Between the Covers
by CosmoSydney
Summary: Every day a different book. Every book a different message. As Bella deliberately works her way through the library, will Edward be able to read between the covers?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Here goes.**

**This is unbeta'd.**

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**C&S**

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**Between the Covers**

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The cool air is usually refreshing when I push open the big wooden and glass door.

But not today.

Today – even though it is unbearably hot outside – it's raining.

And as the cold air washes over me, I shiver. Goosebumps cover inches and miles of exposed skin barely concealed by too-short shorts and this flimsy tank top. Ideal for summer…not for unexpected afternoon showers and ice cold libraries.

I hide at the table in the far back corner by the periodicals while I dry. If I lean over to the left, I can see him. Although, if I lean over too far, _he_ might see me.

I only lean a little.

Sun-kissed hair the color of terracotta tile is all I see. He's leaning over a book. I wish I knew what he was reading.

I open my canvas beach bag. Instead of towels and suntan lotion, it holds a book. One book. I checked it out yesterday. I read it last night. Well, I mostly read it. I basically just skimmed the important parts. I know the story by heart.

_Did he think about the title?_

_About the content?_

_Probably not._

Pushing my damp hair behind my ears, I walk slowly, slowly, slowly to the counter. He doesn't look up. I bite down on my lip hard.

_Oww…too hard._

I place the book on the counter and softly push it toward him.

And then he looks up with eyes the color of fresh-cut grass. I think they grow wide for just a moment, but that's probably just wishful thinking.

"_Daughter of Fortune_," he says, as he types something into the keyboard. "Card?"

I reach in my pocket and pull out the card. With fingers that shouldn't tremble, I slide that to him as well.

"Bella Swan," he says.

For a moment, I wonder how he knows my name. But then I remember that I'm _not_ an idiot and my name is on the card.

"That's me."

"You just checked this out yesterday."

"I did," I tell him. "I'm a fast reader."

He smiles, but then quickly looks back down. And I try to sneak a peek at what he's reading. But I can't.

"Clearly."

He pushes the card back to me without making any more eye contact. I take it and quietly walk away.

I'm not trembling now.

Maybe I've warmed up…or maybe I'm no longer nervous.

Probably a little bit of both.

I walk up and down the aisles. My fingers touch all the books on the fourth shelf from the bottom.

Until I reach the section that I'm looking for.

Searching and scanning, I trace the titles until my index finger lands on the one I want. I take it, holding it close to my chest and breathing in deeply. I walk back up to the desk and I slide it to him along with my card.

He looks at the book.

"_Summer_," he says. "Edith Wharton is overrated."

"That's funny," I say, looking down a finally seeing his book – _Stranger in a Strange Land_. "I've never heard of Robert Heinlein. You must like authors who aren't rated at all."

Without looking at him again, I take my new book and throw it my bag. I head back outside, thankful it's not still raining.

Maybe tomorrow I'll learn his name.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thanks for reading!**

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**Chapter 2**

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Bella Swan has horrible taste in literature.

Which is unfortunate, because she's pretty.

With a sigh, I pick up my worn, paperback copy of my favorite Heinlein novel. Transplanting a man's brain into a woman's body is a fascinating concept.

Isn't it?

I frown and place my bookmark against the page, closing it gently.

It isn't the first time she's come into the library, but it is the first time I've seen her with goosebumps.

Yes, she's pretty.

She just reads terribly overrated books.

Bella Swan checks out a new book each day, and I can't deny I'm impressed with her dedication. She's clearly a ferocious reader, considering _Daughter of Fortune_ is a little over four hundred pages long, and she read it all in one night.

I'm also impressed with her brown eyes, her long hair, and the indecent length of her shorts.

Oh, and her tiny tank top, which, thanks to the rain, had been nearly transparent.

I love the rain.

I spend the afternoon shelving books, and when I find myself holding _Daughter of Fortune_, I do what I do every day with the book she's returned.

I open the book to a random page.

I don't read the words, because they're irrelevant. What's important about the page is the smell.

Old-book and tangerines.

She always smells like tangerines.

And today, both scents are mixed with just a hint of rain.

For some reason, I choose today to pay attention to the words on the page. I notice it's dog-eared, and I wonder if this section was a favorite of hers. My eyes scan the page, finally settling on the final paragraph.

_She never imagined a scenario in which her love was not returned with the same depth of feeling, for to her it was impossible to believe that a love of such magnitude could have stunned only her. The most elementary logic and justice indicated that somewhere in the city he was suffering the same delicious torment._

Snapping the book closed, I place it on the shelf.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll tell her my name.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thank you for reading. We love each response.**

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**Chapter 3**

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When I get home, the sun is shining so bright, it's almost like there was never any rain at all. Except for the virtually-oppressive humidity. I decide that I don't care. So, I grab a sheet from the hall closet, strip down to just my shorts and bra and head out back with my book.

Once I'm spread across the sheet, I open to the passage I love the most. It only takes a few moments to find.

"_I don't know if I should care for a man who made life easy; I should want someone who made it interesting."_

I read it – just those words – over and over again.

The truth is, at the almost-adult age of twenty, I've never really cared about men at all. And to be honest, there has only ever been one real man in my life – Charlie. But my dad doesn't constitute a _man_. Not in the biblical sense, anyway.

There have been boys, though. None of whom interested me in that way. Not really. Just boys that I've hung out with, studied with, and maybe even kissed a little.

It's funny how all that changed a little over a week ago.

When I saw him, I felt something.

Something new.

Something different.

Something…sexual.

So, that was why I chose this book today. He didn't seem to notice anything about _Daughter of Fortune_. Although, I guess there was no _real_ hidden meaning there. Even if I did dog ear that page. I just – arrogantly – wanted him to know that I was well-read. Smart even. I mean, he has to be smart, right? He works in a library for god's sake.

Although, I suppose that it would be supremely unfair for someone to be that gorgeous and intelligent, too.

But today – today I was determined to make a point.

Today I chose _Summer_.

Yeah, I could have read it on my Kindle. I mean, all of Edith Wharton's work is public domain now. But I wanted him to notice. And I'm not sure that he did. But if he was watching, and if he has any literary knowledge at all, he'll know.

_Summer_ is about sexual awakening.

And watching him for the last week has definitely awakened something sexual inside me.

I roll over onto my back and place the book on my chest. I close my eyes and I think about the beautiful man with the bronze hair. Quiet and perfect and somewhat brooding. I want to get to know him. And I want him to get to know me.

The damp heat covers my skin – it presses against me almost like a body. I've never felt that, but I want to. And with that thought, I fall asleep in the sunlight.

The library is quiet and cold when I walk inside the next day. I don't even look to see if he's sitting at the desk. I walk back to my table in the corner and sit down. The cool plastic of the chair is soothing. My skin is pink – red even. I'm too sunburned to wear anything except this cotton dress…not even a bra. I should feel embarrassed, but instead, I feel strangely excited and liberated. It's terrifying.

I lean over.

Just a little.

And this time, he's looking.

I quickly lower my head and pull the book from my bag. I open it up to the page I dog-eared on purpose. I read the passage one more time.

I hope that he's not easy.

I really hope that he's interesting.

And then, with the book in hand, I slowly walk up to the desk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

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Bella Swan is going to be the death of me.

Here's the thing, and perhaps it's something she hasn't noticed.

I'm a man.

I'm a twenty-one year old man who gets raging hard-ons when pretty girls wear cotton dresses without a bra.

I try not to look. I beg my eyes to remain on her face as she walks toward the check-out counter.

My eyes are traitors.

Does she realize her nipples are visible?

Does she care?

Maybe she _wants_ me to see them?

That possibility excites me more than it should, because it would mean she wants me to notice _her_.

Doesn't she realize I already do?

Bella smiles at me and hands me the paperback she checked out just yesterday. Today, her skin is redder than normal, and I hate the sun for marring her creamy flesh. Her skin is always flawless and smooth and...

Never have I been so thankful that a counter hides me from the waist down.

I clear my throat and try to make conversation.

"Did you like _Summer_?"

"I always do."

I nod and ask for her card. After scanning the plastic, I hand it back to her, and she makes her way to the shelves. As she walks away, I don't notice how the cotton dress hugs her curves, and I certainly don't look at her shapely legs. I wonder if she's an athlete. Or a dancer.

When she returns, she's holding _Frankenstein_, and I grin.

Bella arches an eyebrow. "Let me guess, you hate this one, too?"

"Not at all," I reply, scanning the bar code on the book jacket. "Did you know Mary Shelley was eighteen when she started writing this?"

"And published it at twenty-one. It's my dream."

"To publish?"

"Someday, yeah."

That would explain all the reading. They say the best writers are readers.

"I write some," I tell her, handing her the book.

"You do?"

"Yeah, but I write music."

"That's cool."

I nod, and that's the end of our conversation.

"Well . . ." and she pauses, giving me an opening.

"Edward. My name is Edward Cullen."

She smiles. "Well, Edward Cullen, if you don't mind, I'm going to sit back there and read for a while."

"No problem."

I don't watch her go, and I don't discreetly adjust myself as she walks away.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

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I walk back to my little table in the corner. I'm not sure if he's watching, but I'm pretty sure I can feel his stare. The back of my neck tingles.

When I sit down, I open the book. I don't particularly want to read this book. I mean, I've read it, of course. But it's never been one of my favorites. But I just knew it would garner a reaction from him because apparently, he's into science fiction. I only know this because I googled Heinlein. Why are all men into science fiction? I don't get it.

I spend the next half hour alternating between reading Frankenstein and sneaking peeks at Edward. He's very diligent. He also seems to be a bit…put out. Once, I think I catch him looking at me, but before I can get a good look, he's turned away and focused intently on something else.

I shiver.

I don't know if it's from the cool air on my hot, burned skin or from the idea that he's watching. My nipples tell me it could be from either.

_Shit._

My nipples are hard.

I really hope they weren't this…_erect_…while I was up there talking to him.

I bury myself back in the book.

I don't know how long I've been reading when he slowly approaches the table. Actually, I feel him long before he's actually here. My tight skin tingles and I'm pretty sure I blush. Thank god he can't see it.

"How's Frankenstein?" he asks.

"Lonely," I sigh. "Angry."

His brows knit together.

"Is that…something you relate to?"

_No, Edward. I'm only reading this book because I thought it might impress you._

"Not really," I tell him. "Not that I _can't_ relate to it. I think we all can relate to at some point or another."

I look up at him, and I swear to god, I have to stop myself from cursing. How can someone be this hot? And smart? Oh, and apparently musical?

I wonder what that's like?

You know – watching him play the guitar.

"It doesn't seem like light summer reading."

He motions to the seat in front of me and I nod my head. And he seems – I don't know – nervous.

I don't know if I should sit up straight or slouch down. Clearly, my breasts are calling the shots here. And then I remember the actual goal. This is supposed to be the summer of my sexual awakening.

I sit up.

They push out.

And he definitely, definitely notices.

"It's not," I tell him, laughing as I place the book on the table. "Do you know that there is not one strong female character in this book? They're all so…_passive_. And it was written by a woman."

When I look up, I see that he's totally staring at my chest. I'm torn between being embarrassed by the absolute wanton hussy I seem to be out in public without undergarments and excited that he seems to like it. My nipples, however, aren't that conflicted.

Neither is the rest of my body.

"Umm…I'm sorry," he says quickly, his eyes shooting up to meet mine. "What did you say?"

His green eyes are wide, and I can tell he's slightly horrified. But his cheeks are the deepest shade of pink, and if anyone were looking at us, they would totally think that he'd been out in the sun with me yesterday. He also licks his lips, which might be just as distracting to me as my braless-breasts are to him.

"Were you…" I start, "I mean…were you just looking at my chest?"

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	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

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There's a big stuffed dog in the corner of the children's section. His name is Clifford, and he's bright red.

Just like my face.

Because I totally am. I'm totally looking at her chest.

But . . . I mean . . . it's not like I have a choice. Her chest is right _there_, and her nipples are erect and pointing straight at me. They're perky and perfect and lickable.

What does she expect?

So I'm a little defensive when I reply. "It's not my fault!"

"Oh, so...whose fault is it? Mine?"

_I can't tell if she's serious. Is she serious?_

"Well...yes. I mean, have you looked in a mirror?"

"Not in the last few hours, no."

I exhale a gust of air and look for something reflective.

"I'm not a pervert, I swear. There's a restroom in the back. It's not for patrons, but . . . please, for the love of god, go look at yourself in the mirror."

Seconds pass.

My leg bounces.

"Is this..." she says, looking down and then back up at me with wide-eyes. "Is this because I'm not wearing a bra? Because I don't need a mirror for that. I happen to be sunburned.

"Yes, I can see that, but—"

Why am I the one who's fidgeting in my seat? Why am I the one who is completely embarrassed?

"I could hold my beach bag in front of myself if it makes you feel more...comfortable."

She's smiling, and I force myself to concentrate on the cover of the novel in her hand. Because looking _anywhere else_ would just be inappropriate and stalkerish.

"I'm trying to be a gentleman, and you're making it . . ."

_Don't say hard. Don't say hard._

". . . difficult."

"So, are you? A gentleman?"

I nod, because I am. I open doors, pay for dinner, and I don't stare at pretty girls and their perfectly lickable nipples.

"Unfortunately," I mutter.

She's still smirking when I stand up. With my head bowed, I make my way back to the counter and pretend to work.

But I don't.

Using my computer monitor as a shield, I watch her. I watch the sun stream through the window and reflect on her hair, making it glisten and shine. I watch as she bites her lip while she reads. And I watch as her hand unconsciously slides down the front of her dress, toying with the buttons.

I groan a little too loudly, and her head snaps up.

She grins.

_Why is she smiling?_

Our eyes remain locked as her finger dips beneath the fabric.

And I'm jealous.

Of a fingertip.

_Jesus._

A woman and her two small children walk through the door, so I clear my throat and plaster on my most professional smile. They're noisy, like most kids are, and they head straight to the children's section. I adjust myself, _again_, and check-in the books they just returned.

"My son is looking for the _Wimpy Kid_ books." The woman has to shout above the racket created by her little demon spawns, and I hear Bella's giggle.

I also notice her finger is no longer sliding beneath her dress.

I'm relieved.

I'm devastated.

After they leave, I bravely approach her table once again. I don't bother asking permission this time. I just sit in the chair across from her, and I wait.

I don't have to wait long.

Bella smiles at me before placing her bookmark on the page. She gently lays the book on the table and looks at me with those wide, expectant eyes.

And because I don't want her to think I'm a complete dick, I ask her a simple question.

"What's your favorite book?"

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter7**

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I want to answer his question – I do. Much like I want to sit here all day and stare at his jaw line that is currently shaded with the merest hint of ginger stubble.

"You realize that asking me the title of my favorite book is an impossible question to answer, right?"

He cracks a smile, his eyes centering in on me. This time, on my eyes. Which is so much sexier than when he stares at my chest.

"This is just a hunch, but I'm going to assume Frankenstein isn't one of them."

"Not so much."

He reaches across and touches the novel in front of me. His fingers brush across and linger on the title.

"Then why read it?" he asks, noticing the way I can't stop staring at his long fingers. He quickly pulls his hand back and places it on the table in front of him. "Life's too short to read books you don't enjoy."

I blush at his words – I die a little on the inside.

This is really the unanswerable question. And there's no way I'm telling him the truth – that I wanted to impress him with my love and endless knowledge of classic science fiction literature.

Even though I have neither.

"Well...umm...I don't know," I stammer. Way to impress him with all my knowledge. "It's brilliant. And I just...well…"

_Awesome, Bella._

But he doesn't miss a beat.

"What's brilliant about it?"

He smirks at me. His eyes – they're flirty and little to all knowing. He's _testing _me. And while I might not love this book, I've certainly read it. Well, I read a million years ago.

I quickly try to form a viable answer.

"It's an amazing commentary on society," I tell him while he looks at me all expectantly. Damn. I need to elaborate. "You know? If you're into men who fool themselves into believing that they want to change the world, when really, all they want to do is achieve greatness."

_Take that, Edward Cullen._

I smirk back.

"Why can't you do both? Change the world _and _do something great?"

He knows I'm full of shit.

I'm surprisingly turned on by this. My body and mind are at complete odds right now. But I'm not ready to give in just yet.

"You _could_, but Frankenstein didn't," I tell him. "I suppose the book could be about learning from your mistakes. Only he didn't really learn from his mistakes. He compounded them."

His eyes never leave mine. Not once. Not even when I bring my hand up to my chest and stoke the exposed skin there.

And I'm out of anything remotely intelligent to say on the subject.

"Can I be honest?" I ask.

"I always want you to be honest with me," he says, smiling.

"I mostly...well, I mostly chose this book because...I thought it was something you'd be interested in," I tell him. I look down, mortified. "And I'm only admitting this to you because I can't talk about Frankenstein anymore."

He doesn't say anything. For the longest time, we sit there in silence. I feel like maybe I should go. He probably thinks I'm a desperate, stupid loser without a bra or any real intelligence.

But then I hear him gulp.

I probably wouldn't hear it if it wasn't so quiet in here.

But I totally do.

So, I slowly lift my eyes to his. And he's staring at me. He's also licking his lips again – probably to pay me back for touching my breasts. He still doesn't say anything, though. I wish I had a better read on him. Or that he was leaving me little clues through the books he chooses to read.

I'm reaching down to pick up my bag, when his voice stops me. "I have an idea."

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"Check out another book before you leave-something you _truly_ want to read."

He smiles, and I can't help the enormous smile I give him back.

"Okay. I can do that."

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	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

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She bends low, reaching for one of the biggest books on the shelf, and I have to stifle a groan when the top of her dress dips, giving me a perfect view of her breasts.

Her braless breasts.

I close my eyes and recite the periodic table.

Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, B…

_Bella._

_Braless._

_Breasts._

"Beryllium!" I shout, and her head snaps up. Mortified, I mutter a curse at my stupid conscience and my raging boner.

Bella Swan just admitted that she checked-out _Frankenstein_ because she thought it'd interest me, which means she _wants_ me to be interested.

And I am.

Very interested.

But it also makes me wonder.

_Summer. Daughter of Fortune._

What's the connection?

_Is_ there a connection?

The novels, seemingly, have nothing to do with one another. Granted, it's been a few years since I've read any of them—and I only read the Wharton novel because I was forced in my freshman-level lit course—but why had she chosen those particular books?

Is it because they'd all been written by women?

I'm still trying to piece it all together when Bella returns to the counter, holding _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_.

_Another female author._

I feel a weird sense of vindication, like I've just solved the world's biggest jigsaw puzzle, but then I realize I'm being stupid because I haven't really solved anything at all.

"You look frustrated."

I blink and focus on the pretty girl in front of me.

"Can I be honest?"

"I always want you to be honest with me."

Using my words against me is very, very sexy.

Clearing my throat, I quickly scan the book and her card, placing both in front of her. Then, I rest my elbows on the counter, leaning closer. Her eyes widen, and I notice the little flecks of gold mixed with the deep, chocolate brown.

"I'm not frustrated," I murmur.

Bella moves closer.

_Tangerines._

"What are you?" Her voice is soft and low.

_Horny._

If I'm being completely honest, that would be my reply. But I know that particular response—at this stage in our relationship—would be disrespectful. I think she's a sweet girl, and sweet girls are hard to find. She's also smart and funny, and finding a combination of all three qualities is rare. I like that she's rare. I like that she's a little special. I like that she's here every day. I like that she's interested enough in me that she'd pretend to read a gothic sci-fi novel just to impress me.

And I like her dress, but I realize all those other qualities are far more important.

She's looking at me expectantly, waiting for my answer.

What am I?

"I'm fascinated," I reply.

Bella smiles. "I'm not surprised. _Half-Blood Prince_ is a lot darker than the other books—"

"No, I'm fascinated by you."

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	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

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"I'm not that fascinating," I lie. I'm completely fascinating – even if only to myself. But the real question is, "Why do you think that?"

Is he fascinated by my choice of books?

Is he fascinated by my thorough inability to engage in witty, insightful conversation without looking at his lips or pushing out my chest?

Shit. Is he only fascinated by my breasts?

Don't misunderstand, I _want_ him to be fascinated by my breasts, but I would rather it be in addition to my mind.

And maybe my smile.

And possibly the fact that I am beyond fascinated by him.

"Because you're smart." He says the words simply, without a trace of humor. I'm happy for the already-flushed skin.

"And how do you know that?" I ask, trying to contain my smile and the immense delight that courses through me at his compliment.

"Well, it's a proven fact that people who read a lot are smarter," he says, pausing. "And the books you check out are deep. They make you think. They make you question. They make you view the world differently."

I'm so astounded by his answer and it makes it difficult to form a response.

I lean in closer, placing my elbows on the counter, my chin in my hands. "So you've read them all, then?"

"Yes, but I have to admit, out of your last four check-outs, I'm most impressed with _Harry Potter_," he says, his eyes drifting lower for just a moment. Is it possible to be aroused during a conversation about children's lit? "It's my favorite of your choices so far."

This makes me smile. Not only because he likes _Harry Potter_, but because he told me to choose something I truly wanted to read. And while it's arguably _not_ deep literature, I absolutely adore the books.

"Mine, too," I tell him, grinning. "I love the books. I feel like I grew up with the characters. And _The Half Blood Prince_ is my favorite."

"Why?"

"I think I love it most because Harry is dealing with...a lot," I say. His hand inches closer and is now on the book in front of me, his fingers trace the length of the spine. I realize I'm staring, wanting something more than the conversation. _Maybe just a touch_. But then I lose my nerve, so I continue. "He's lost so much, but at the same time, he realizes that he's in love for the first time. There's so much to be said about...I don't know...the ability to feel that way, to have that hope, even when everything else around you is so...bleak."

His green eyes hold mine for a long moment. Truly, it feels like hours of minutes of extremely long seconds pass between us.

"See," he says softly…lowly. "That was a deep answer. _That's_ how I know you're intelligent."

_Harry Potter_ makes me intelligent.

Not my love of Wharton or Allende.

For some reason, this makes me beam. And no matter how I try, I can't contain the smile that spreads across my face. I also can't contain my body's powerful inclination to climb across the counter and run my fingers through his hair and beg him to kiss me and tell me the title his favorite book.

Well, I almost can't contain it.

I do.

Counter climbing and physical advances might be frowned upon in the library.

But I wouldn't if I were sure he wanted me to.

He doesn't say anything else, and neither do I. And I don't really want to because this moment is so perfect. But sometimes – like right now – I just can't help myself.

"That's not the only reason this book is my favorite," I tell him smiling.

I reach down to collect it. I can't help it when my hand brushes against his. I also can't stop the gasp that escapes me when I feel this rush of electrically charged energy.

_I wonder if he felt that…_

"Why else?" he asks. "What's the other reason?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." I grin. "I'm wondering if you can't figure it out."

I turn to walk away while the moment is still perfect, but then I stop before I reach the door. And turning, I tell him, "I wouldn't mind knowing…you know…what you'll be reading tonight."

"I guess I'm reading The Half Blood Prince."

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	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

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She's almost out the door when I shout her name. Bella turns quickly, and I can see her blush creep across her face. And her chest.

_Focus, Edward._

I don't know what possesses me to do it. Maybe it's because I find her adorable and sexy. Maybe it's because our fascination has turned into a flirtation. Whatever it is, it gives me courage.

"Since we'll both be reading the same book tonight, maybe…I don't know. Maybe you could give me your number? And then, if I have any questions, or if you have any, we could…call each other?"

"You want my number? To talk about the book?"

"Yeah, to uh…talk about the book."

I'm a babbling idiot, but her face splits into a bright grin.

"Okay, give me your phone. I'll program it in."

I walk toward the door, reach into my pocket, and hand her my phone. After a few seconds, she hands it back, and I smile down at her name on my list of contacts. I feel a weird sense of triumph, but then I realize it's just a phone number. Real triumph will come when I'm able to touch her. Or kiss her. Or…

_Focus, Edward._

"I'll text you. You know, so you can have mine, too."

"Okay," she replies, smiling. "I might...you know...have questions."

"Yeah. Me too."

We stare at each other for a thousand seconds until she finally says goodbye. I watch, transfixed, as she walks down the sidewalk.

Is it too soon to text? I mean, I can still _see _her through the window.

It's probably too soon.

But I'm still riding high on my wave of courage, so I quickly type out a quick text. I synchronize my movements—I hit send and stare out the window at the same time, just so I can have the satisfaction of watching her stop in her tracks.

Bella looks down at her phone, and she beams. It's a blinding, beautiful smile that lights up her entire face, and I feel like Gandalf or someone equally kickass—because I'm the one who made her smile like that.

Glancing over her shoulder, she looks back toward the library. I don't know if she can see me, but I can see her.

And she's still smiling.

Once she's gone, I walk over to the children's section and grab our second copy of _Half Blood Prince_. It's been years since I read it. If I remember correctly, this is the year Harry became a bitchy teenage boy, ruled by his hormones for Ginny Weasley while preparing for the inevitable battle with Voldemort. It's also the book where Snape kills Dumbledore, in one of the strongest and bravest acts of loyalty in the history of literature.

Love and death.

Friendship and loyalty.

While _cool_, none of this is useful in helping me determine why Bella Swan loves it so much.

I check-out the book and shut down the computer before heading home.

It's weird staying with my parents during the summer months. After residing in the dorms, it's always an adjustment to living with them again. But it just doesn't seem practical to live on campus during the summer—not when I can live rent-free and have home-cooked meals for a few months. Besides, they aren't too terrible to live with, and I know it makes my mom happy to have me home.

I do my own laundry, though. I'm twenty-one years old, and my mom shouldn't be washing my boxers.

Or my sheets.

Definitely not my sheets.

After saying a quick hello to my parents, I rush upstairs, locking the door behind me. I've just stretched across my bed and opened the book when my phone vibrates. I can't help but grin at the message on the screen.

_**How's Harry?**_

I toss the book aside, because no matter how stimulating _Harry Potter_ might be, it can't possibly be more stimulating than texting with Bella Swan.

* * *

**Please leave us love. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

He texts me just as I leave. I mean, I haven't even gone anywhere. I can still see the library for god's sake. I look at my phone, at his message.

**I have to warn you. I might have a lot of questions.**

And I turn back to see the library. The sun is high and bright, and I can't see him. But I'm pretty sure he's looking.

So, I smile.

And I hope he really does have a lot of questions.

I take a cool shower when I get home…for various reasons. And when I'm done, I curl up on my bed with Harry Potter. I forgot how much I truly love this book, and I find myself completely immersed in the story. Before I know it, it's getting dark outside, and I'm well into the book.

I wonder if he's reading.

I wonder if he's on his bed just like me.

And then I realize, I don't really have to wonder. So, I pick up my phone and I send him a text.

_**How's Harry?**_

I wait for his response. Well, I hope for his response. It's almost immediate, and I smile to myself.

_**Whiny.**_

At first, I laugh. Because it's such a typical boy response. But then, I'm indignant. I have actually been reading for a few hours.

_**Harry is NOT whiny.**_

I send the text, but I follow it up with another.

_**Possibly arrogant, but not whiny.**_

His response is, once again, almost immediate.

_**He's a typical teenage boy in this one.**_

I think.

I grin.

I respond.

_**Were you whiny as a teenager?**_

I fall back on my bed. The book is forgotten and off to the side. I'm texting Edward Cullen, and he is texting me. These words are better than anything at Hogwarts.

_**Of course I was whiny as a teenager. Aren't all teenagers gigantic pains in the asses?**_

There was no way he was a pain in the ass.

_**I wasn't. I was perfectly lovely.**_

It's a lie, but he doesn't need to know that. I was probably a huge pain in the ass. Especially since Charlie raised me by himself and didn't quite know what to do with a hormonal teenage girl. I'm sure shopping for things like bras and tampons were more than a pain in the ass. I'm laughing about the memory of my first trip to the drugstore when he responds.

_**You know what?**_

_**What?**_

_**I bet you were lovely, because you're lovely now.**_

I'm so happy I'm alone because there is no way I could suppress the smile that covers my face. He's so quiet, and while I don't really know anything of importance about him, there's something amazing about the fact that he's being so flirty and forward.

It's unexpected.

It makes me happy.

It makes me press the call button.

"Hello," he answers, and I die.

"I thought it might be easier to talk," I tell him. "That is unless you don't really want to talk. I guess I should have asked."

"I don't mind talking. It's fine…it's good. His voice is much lower than I remember. "I'm glad you called."

"You know, you might make it impossible to read."

"Why's that?" he asks, but I can hear the knowing tone in his voice.

He is totally flirting!

"Because I might enjoy talking to you more," I tell him. "And seriously…I really love to read."

"Well, is talking a bad thing?" he asks.

"No," I tell him, twirling my hair. Yes – I am twirling my hair. And grinning. "But if we don't read, how will you ever figure out why this book is my favorite?"

"That's true. And I don't want to be distracting." He sounds genuine. Like he really doesn't want to distract me from _Harry Potter_. "Maybe I should let you go."

He sounds… Well, he sounds like I feel at the thought of him hanging up.

"But I _like_ your distraction."

"I like distracting you."

I'm certain he can _hear_ my smile. Which I know is ridiculous.

"Well, you _have_ read the book before," I tell him. "Maybe you could just…I don't know…guess."

"Guess why it's your favorite?"

"Yeah."

He'll never guess it – not in a million years.

I smile at the thought.

"Well...if I remember right, this is the year when Harry falls head over heels in love, isn't it?"

"Yes. It absolutely is," I tell him. But then I add, "Although, Harry was never my favorite character."

"I bet Hermione is your favorite," he tells me.

"She is. I love her – love everything about her actually. In fact, I think she is one of the best female characters ever written. And not just in children's lit. She was always viewed as an equal to the boys. Not even just an equal. She was actually the best of them all. The most brilliant." I realize that I am getting carried away. I quickly add, "But as much as I loved Hermione, I _really_ loved Ron."

"Ron, huh? Really?" he asks. "Why's that?"

"I don't know," I tell him with a sigh. "There's just something about a ginger boy."

I hold my breath and wish, wish, wish I could see his face.

He's quiet.

I can hear him breathing.

But he's still not saying anything and I'm beginning to freak out.

Shit.

"You know," he says, effectively pausing my anxiety attack. "You remind me of Hermione."

"Because I'm a bossy know-it-all?" I ask, hoping to lighten the moment.

"No. Because you're pretty and smart."

* * *

**Please leave us some love. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

* * *

I can hear her breathing through the phone.

It's turning me on.

As if I need more stimulation. It's bad enough that I'm now imagining Bella in a Hermione Granger costume.

"That's true," she says. "I am smart. And I'm not...altogether unfortunate looking. You however..."

I frown. _Not altogether unfortunate looking?_ Does she have no idea how pretty she is?

"What about me?" I ask.

"Is this your attempt at being coy, Edward?"

"Not at all. I just don't think how a person looks is the most important thing."

I've never really put a lot of emphasis on my looks. They came from my parents—my biological parents—and since I want nothing to do with either of them, I kind of resent that I'm a carbon copy of my dad. The two people downstairs, sitting in front of the television and watching The History Channel, are my real parents, and all my life, I had wished for Carlisle's blonde hair. But no, I have this mess of red and brown, and growing up, I'd always been called…

_Ginger._

_"There's just something about a ginger boy."  
_

Ron Weasley is a ginger.

"I'm not shallow, if that's what you're thinking." she continues. "But I would be lying if I said that you weren't... Well, let me put it this way, you're definitely hotter than a Weasley. But you're right. That doesn't mean anything because Ron Weasley was my favorite character. I'm babbling. I'm going to shut up now. You just make me..."

Fucking nailed the Ron Weasley thing, and I'm feeling a little smug.

"I make you what, Bella?"

There's a lengthy pause, and I wonder if she's chickened out, but then I hear her breathy voice, and my dick twitches.

"You make me...feel things."

I can sense how hard that was for her to admit. So I make my own confession.

"You make me feel things, too."

Another pause. Her breathing increases.

"What kind of things, because I'm not entirely certain that we are talking about the same things?"

Okay, so I was wrong. It wasn't hard for her to admit at all. How much can I say and still be respectful?

"Well, I'm feeling…conflicted."

"About?"

And because I can't stand it any longer, I finally just tell her.

"I think you're beautiful. And smart. And sexy. And beautiful."

"You think I'm sexy?"

I notice she completely ignores the _smart _and _beautiful._

"Can I be honest and you not think I'm complete pervert?"

"I always want you to be honest with me."

I smile, because that's totally become our thing. So, in the interest of always being honest with her…

"Today, when you were sliding your finger down your chest?"

"Was I doing that?"

_Is she kidding?_

"Yes, you were doing that. You didn't know?

"Not consciously, no."

And for some reason, I don't believe her. Not that she's intentionally lying, but more that she's just being playful.

I love it. And I play along.

"Hmm. Is this your attempt at being coy, Bella?"

"Maybe. Let's suppose that - hypothetically - I am. Would that make a difference? You know...if I actually _was_ touching my chest today...and possibly hoping that you would notice?"

That's when I realize my desire to remain a gentleman didn't stand a chance against her sexy maneuvers. I'm a man, and I'm just not that strong. So I'm honest, because she always wants me to be honest with her.

"I noticed. And I really wanted that finger to be mine."

I hear her quiet gasp.

"Did you really want to do that...touch me?"

"You always want me to be honest, right?"

"Yes."

I sigh heavily and glance at the long-forgotten Harry Potter book. Clearly, there will be no reading tonight.

And then I wonder if that wasn't her plan all along.

"Yes, I really wanted to touch you. Now I have a question for you."

"Okay…"

"Did you _want _me to touch you?"

Another quiet gasp.

"Well, I was going to ask you another question, but I think I'll just tell you something instead," she says.

My palms are sweating and my heart is racing.

Oh, and I'm hard.

Forever hard whenever this girl's around.

I consider telling Bella that my mom is calling me downstairs for dinner. I could take a quick shower, relieve some of the pressure.

"When I was standing at the counter with you today, I might have wanted to touch you, too. No, actually, I think what I wanted to do was crawl across the counter and do highly inappropriate things - especially considering that we were in a library. Oh, and I also wanted to _beg_ you to tell me the title of your favorite book. But the crawling and the inappropriateness...yeah, that was the stronger urge."

And now I'm harder.

_Fuck me._

The shower is a necessity now. I can't continue having this conversation until I deal with my raging hard-on.

"Bella, umm...my mom is calling me down for dinner. Give me ten minutes?"

And I'm met with silence.

_Shit._

"Five minutes? I'll call back in five minutes, I swear."

"Okay, five minutes."

I end the call, toss my phone onto my bed, and race to the shower. The hot water scalds my skin, but I'm too impatient to wait.

I lather up.

Thank god I have my own bathroom, because nothing would be worse than having my mom walk in while I'm jacking off to images of Bella Swan.

Crawling over my counter.

Wearing a Hogwarts robe and tie.

With nothing underneath.

"Fuck," I groan, pressing my forehead against the shower glass.

I think about her eyes. Her hair. Her scent. Her finger. Her breasts.

Her fingers on her breasts.

_My_ fingers on her breasts.

And I come…so hard and fast my knees nearly buckle.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

It's a gorgeous day today. Perfect, really. Warm and bright – not a cloud in the sky. It's almost reflective of my mood.

But my mood is better.

As I walk to the library, I'm thinking about how Edward called me back last night. Just like he said he would. I'm also thinking about the fact that Edward is sneaky – and possibly a little _dirtier_ than I imagined initially.

Or maybe a lot.

And that makes me really happy.

When I walk inside the library, I can tell no one's here. There's only once car in the parking lot. And I'm pretty sure that it belongs to Edward. Who knew a Volvo could be sexy?

I see him as I walk in, but I don't look. I immediately walk to the fiction section to pick out a new book. When I find the one I'm looking for, I smile. The truth is – the title isn't actually the point. It's the content…and the cover. This one has a half-naked man holding some wench who's spilling out of her bodice.

_The Pirate and the Pagan_

Perfect.

Before I take it to the counter, I walk the aisles to make sure no one else is here.

"Quiet today, huh?" I tell him, smiling and placing the book down.

He looks at it, and his green eyes grow wide.

I grin.

"It has been, yeah."

I lean in, my chin in my hands.

"Since there isn't really anyone here, I was wondering if you could maybe help me find something back in the non-fiction section."

"Sure, what do you need?"

He walks around the counter, and we head to the far back section of the library. He's looking at me, and I think he might possibly want to reach out and hold my hand. He doesn't, though. Which is probably a good thing.

For now, anyway.

"Well, I was thinking about The Atlas of Human Anatomy," I tell him sweetly. "Do you know if you guys have it?"

"I think so. Are you taking summer classes or something?"

"Nope. I was just...thinking about...you know, the human body or whatever. Actually...I was really thinking about certain parts of the human anatomy."

"Which...parts?"

"Oh, you know...like hands." I smile and look down at his. They're fisted at his sides. "And possibly the stomach. Well, actually...the entire digestive tract."

"Why…" he says, his voice faltering for just a second. But he recovers quickly. "Why are you so interested in the digestive tract?"

He leans back against the shelves, and I reach out and touch the spines of the books behind him.

And the smooth hard wood.

"Well, I was thinking about last night...you know." I look up at his face. _And seriously, how he so freaking hot?_ "When you left me for five minutes – but it was actually seven – to go and eat."

I hold his eyes with mine, daring him to look down or away. He doesn't. Damn, that's so sexy.

He does, however, turn the brightest summer tomato red. It's delicious. I totally want to taste him. But I try not to let that show. I try to maintain cool indifference and a perfectly straight face.

"I apologized that it...ummm...took me so long"

_Nervous._

He is so freaking nervous. And I love it.

"Well, see? That's kinda the thing," I tell him. "Seven minutes isn't really _all_ that long to eat dinner. I mean, I don't know what you were eating, but eating _that_ fast would definitely make a person sick. And you certainly didn't sound sick when you called me. A little breathless maybe, but not sick."

"Well, it was just a sandwich. And I uh...ran back up the stairs. You know, because I knew I'd promised you five minutes..."

I step in a little closer. Another couple inches and I'd be pressed completely up against him.

"I think you're keeping a secret, Edward Cullen," I tease. "I think that maybe you were doing something _else_ for seven minutes. And that brings us to the other part of the body I happen to be interested in. Well, one of the other parts."

"Which part is that?" he says lowly, roughly.

"Your hand," I tell him, bringing my hand from the bookshelf to his stomach. I stoke him a little – just softly over the cotton of his t-shirt. I can feel his muscles clench and release. "You know, the hand is a really complex part of the body."

He gulps loudly; his body's almost twitching. Well, mine it, too. Only he can't see that.

"Well, our hands are very different," he says.

"Like, yours and mine?"

"Like yours and mine." He brings his hand up and covers mine against his stomach. He presses it against him as his thumb gently strokes my palm. "Yours is tiny and soft."

"And yours is warm and big," I say, my voice quieter than before. "You have long fingers."

He smiles even though he's still blushing.

"I _do_ have long fingers."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Did your hand feel good last night?"

I look at him pointedly, and the smallest gasp escapes his lips. His green eyes grow dark…nervous.

"What...do you mean?"

I drag my short nails across his palm, squeezing his hand gently, and hoping I don't scare him away.

"I think you know what I mean," I tell him, moving another inch closer. "But I really want to know…did it feel good?"

He licks his lips and swallows.

"You really, really want to know?"

"Yes."

"It felt fantastic, Bella," he breathes."But..."

"But, what?"

"But...I think...I mean," he pauses, and I die a million times as I wait. "I'm pretty sure...your hand would feel better."

_Fuck me._

"I'm pretty sure you're right. Well, I hope you are," I say softly. "So...I was wondering..."

"What were you wondering?"

"If maybe you didn't want to find out," I say. My mouth feels dry and wet at the same time. "Feel the difference. You know, for educational purposes, of course."

I've never been this brazen – never even wanted to.

And his eyes shoot from side to side as he looks around us. But the library is silent except for us.

"No one's here," I insist. "And we would hear them come in."

He looks at me for a long time, and I can tell he's thinking about it.

"Bella, I...I mean, is that something you'd _like_ to do?"

I slide my free hand up his thigh, rubbing over his definitely-erect penis.

He's so freaking hard.

I feel it pulse and jump against my hand through the fabric.

"I think that's a definitive yes."

"You didn't really want an anatomy book, did you?"

"Nope," I tell him, freaking out for just a minute, wondering if this is really me. I decide that it is – that I want this. But I also want more. "But I did...I mean, I _do_...want something else before I...you know."

He smiles sweetly, softly. He reaches down and pulls my hand away from his pants. But at the same time, he holds my other hand closer…tighter.

"Well, I have to admit...I want something else, too."

"What's that?"

"I really want to kiss you, Bella."

And he leans in, close enough for me to feel his breath on my face. And then his lips are against mine – just a whisper, no pressure at all, really. But before I can even open my mouth and silently beg him to _really_ kiss me, the bell rings as the door to the library opens.

Startled, he pulls away.

But he stays there staring at me, and from the look in his eyes, I can tell he wants this – whatever this is between us – as much as I do.

"I have to get back," he tells me.

"Okay," I agree. "But before you do, can I tell you something?"

He nods his head.

I stand up on my tippy-toes and I whisper directly in his ear, "What you did last night…yeah, I did it, too."

Then, I kiss him on the cheek and step back, watching him as he walks away.

He only stumbles once.

And I head to my table to read my new book. I think it's a hot one.

* * *

**Please leave us some love. :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

Today is the best day of my life.

Bella just admitted she masturbated last night.

Bella just touched my cock.

Bella just offered to give me a hand job.

But the thing that excites me more than any of those monumental and wonderful events?

Bella and I just kissed.

I can't lie. Having her hand on my dick runs a very, very close second, but tasting her lips trumps them all.

Warm. Soft. Pink.

Perfect.

Somehow, I manage to walk back to the counter. It's one of our regulars, asking for a book she'd put on reserve last week. The whole thing takes no more than two minutes, but I stay behind the counter, trying to calm the fuck down while Bella sits at her table, reading her trashy novel. I don't even give the title a moment of consideration. There is no great puzzle to solve with that particular piece of literature.

It's smut.

It's sex.

And Bella Swan, I'm learning, is quite sexual. She's bold and daring and has no qualms with palming a guy's dick through his pants in the non-fiction section.

Here's the thing—and it's not something I've told a soul.

I have this fantasy.

And it involves having sex in a library.

This library.

The non-fiction section is actually the perfect place. It's hidden and secluded. If someone walked in, I'd have plenty of time to zip up and get to the counter without causing suspicion.

It's just a fantasy, and not one that I ever envisioned having come true.

But now…

I watch as she reads her porn, and I wonder.

_Would she be willing?_

_Ever?_

Not now, of course. But maybe someday?

The thing is…I really like Bella. I mean, I like that she's smart and brave and flirty. I like that she's well-read and able to carry on a conversation.

I like her.

With that thought in mind, I head over to her table. She looks up as I sit, and I see the blush staining her cheeks.

Beautiful.

"I can't believe you're reading _The Pirate and the Pagan_."

"Why?"

"Because it's a trashy novel."

She giggles softly. "That's quite elitist of you. First my books are overrated, now they're trashy."

I roll my eyes and laugh. "Just _that_ one is trashy, Bella. You've been reading classic literature, so for you to pick up _The Pirate and the Pagan_ is really quite telling."

_Yes, pretty girl. I'm on to you._

"Actually, it's really good. I'm finding it quite entertaining. Apparently, there's this pirate. And he's holding a woman - who happens to be a virgin - hostage. They get into all sorts of crazy things. There's a lot of...heaving."

"If that cover is any indication, I'm sure that's so. You should know, however, that I'm on to you."

"Oh, really? On to me, how?"

"_Daughter of Fortune. Summer. Harry Potter_. Even _Frankenstein._ Now this one, with a swashbuckling pirate holding onto a woman whose boobs are barely contained in her dress? There's a reason you're checking out these particular books."

"What's the reason?"

I frown, because honestly, I don't have a clue.

Not yet.

"I'm not sure yet," I admit, "but I know there's a reason, and I'm determined to figure it out."

Bella grins. "Start with _Summer_. That's probably the most telling."

"I'd rather start somewhere else, if you don't mind."

"Oh, yeah? Where's that?"

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"On our first date."

And I die, because she instantly looks embarrassed.

"So, I guess that my inappropriate touching in the non-fiction section doesn't constitute a first date, huh?"

"Bella," I say, reaching over and taking her hand in mine. "I loved the inappropriate touching."

She's still crimson, and I hate it.

"You didn't think it was too much or anything?"

I gently stroke her hand. "No, it wasn't too much. It was…it was amazing."

And for a second, I think maybe I should reciprocate, just so she isn't embarrassed. I should maybe do more than just touch her hand.

"So...this first date. What did you have in mind?"

I start with the obvious.

"Do you like movies?"

"I like movies," she replies.

"What kind of movies?"

I assume chick-flicks, because that's what most girls like. Still, I want to ask. I want to be sure.

"I really love foreign films and documentaries."

_And I'm hard again._

"Oh, and also chick flicks."

I grin.

"Well, we could see what's playing at the theater, or..."

Her face brightens. "Or...maybe you could come over to my house and watch Harry Potter."

Tempting, but I know for a fact my house will be empty.

"We could do that. I was also going to suggest my house. We have a...well, we have this media room in the basement. My parents have a wall of movies. And we could...you know, be alone. Mom and Dad have some kind of hospital benefit tonight, which means we'd have the house to ourselves."

"Alone with you in a dark room. Sounds...promising."

"You'd like that?"

She's cherry-red, but this time, I know she's not embarrassed.

She's excited.

_I'm_ excited.

"Yeah...I'd really like that," Bella replies.

"Good."

My leg bounces.

"Should I pick you up?"

That would be the gentlemanly thing to do, right?

"Ummm...yeah. If you want."

She pulls out her phone and texts me her address.

"Great. I'll pick you up around 8?"

"I'll be ready at 7:45."

We smile stupidly at each other until I finally laugh out loud.

_I have a date with Bella Swan._

Happier than I've felt in a long time, I rise to my feet. "Well, I should get back to work so that I can get out of here on time."

She nods and tosses her porn into her beach bag. "I should probably head home. I have a date tonight."

I walk her to the door, and just as she's getting ready to leave, I reach for her hand. It fits perfectly into mine, and I give it a squeeze.

"Before you go, can I ask just one more thing?"

"What's that?"

"What's your favorite flower?"

She smiles, and it's bright and beautiful.

"Dandelions."

It's not the answer I'm expecting, but I'm learning, very quickly, that Bella Swan isn't at all predictable.

And I love it.

Just as she turns to go, I dip my head, kissing her on the cheek.

* * *

**Please leave us love. :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

* * *

We're standing in Edward's living room – Edward's huge living room – and I can't stop smiling. When he picked me up at just before eight, he was holding a box of dandelions. From the produce department at the grocery store. They're for salad.

It was perfect.

He was embarrassed because he couldn't find them at a florist. But I told him that I couldn't have wanted anything more. One of the things I love most about dandelions is that besides being perfectly lovely, bright flowers, you can also eat them. When I told him this, he smiled, too.

"Your house is really...big," I say. Because it really is. I mean, it's freaking huge.

"Yeah..." He blushes, looking off.

"I mean, it's cool. It must be nice to have all this space."

We don't have a ton of space at home, but whenever I'm home from school, it's just me and Charlie, so space is never really an issue.

"I'll give you a tour if you want."

"Sure." I grin. "I'd love that."

I'd really love to see his bedroom…and his bed. And possibly him on his bed.

"Now? Or after the movie?"

"Maybe...after?" I say, hoping that we can go downstairs to the dark room as quickly as possible.

Since this afternoon, I can't stop thinking about what happened in the library. What I did to him in the library. And of course, I can't forget the way his lips felt against mine. And also my cheek.

"After is...good. Yeah, after," he says, pulling me from my thoughts.

"So, what movie are we watching?"

"There are literally thousands," he says, and I'm hoping that's just hyperbole. I mean, they can't really have thousands, can they? "Why don't you pick something you like?"

"What's your favorite movie?"

"_The Fifth Element_?"

I've never heard of that.

"Hmmm...what's that about?"

He smiles, and reaches down to take my hand before launching into this really detailed description of the movie.

"Korben Dallas, played by Bruce Willis, is a taxi-cab driver and former special forces agent living in the 23rd century. He falls in love with Milla Jovovich while trying to save humanity with the help of four mystical stones."

I stop listening somewhere around Bruce Willis, and watch his lips instead. His lips are really soft.

"So, this is a movie you've watched a lot?"

"Yep. I can quote most of it."

He looks almost like a little boy – excited and more animated than I've ever seen him. I'm trying not to laugh.

"So...basically," I say, squeezing his hand softly, "if we watched this movie, it wouldn't matter to you if we were...I don't know...distracted?"

I grin, trying to flirt.

"Distracted?" he basically scoffs. "Have you ever seen The Fifth Element?"

_No, and I've never seen a fully naked man either. And if I had to choose between the two…_

"Umm...will you judge me if I say no?"

"Not at all," he says, pulling my hand and leading me over to a door on the side of the room. "I was just thinking you couldn't have seen it if you think there's any possible way to be distracted while watching it. It's Incredible, Bella...the CGI, the..."

"Oh...okay," I interrupt. What is it with men and all this sci-fi fantasy crap? _I mean, my hand was on your dick today_. "Do you mind if I use the restroom first?"

I'm afraid that I've come on too strong. You know, with the whole indecent groping in a public place. Even though I made sure we were in a place where no one could see us. And maybe this is his attempt to distract me.

"Sure, there's a restroom downstairs."

I don't really have to use the bathroom, but while I'm in here, I look at myself in the mirror. I think I look cute – pretty even. But I decide that maybe I need a little less subtlety and a lot more skin. So, I take of the little sweater I'm wearing over, my sundress.

Yes.

Strappy little straps and cleavage for the win.

Too bad I wore a bra.

Now, I don't think know if he will or even _wants_ to touch me the way I touched him today, but I decide to possibly offer him a little surprise if he does.

Taking a deep breath, I bend down and pull down my panties, quickly stepping out of them. I put them in my purse, and look at my reflection one more time.

Pink cheeks.

I could be embarrassed or aroused.

I'm a little bit of both.

When I step back into the media room, he's turned down all the lights and is standing by the couch. His eyes widen as I walk over to him, but then he runs his hands over the exposed skin of my arms. Up and down for just a few moments. And the look in his eyes – yeah, that was there before.

I have to tell my heart to calm down as we sit on the couch.

"Bella, what's your favorite movie?"

_Damn, he looks good._

"Umm...it changes from year to year, moment to moment, really."

"Give me one title."

I think for just a minute…and then I smile the biggest smile ever.

"Right now, I am in love with Atonement."

"Stay here?"

He jumps off the couch and searches for a movie. Atonement, I think. When he finds it, he puts it in the DVD player and then comes back over to me.

He sits down right beside me.

Like, right up next to me.

I can barely contain my excitement.

"We really could have watched your Element movie."

"Well, I figure...if this is your favorite, then you probably know it by heart, right?"

He smirks.

"I do."

I grin.

"And, if you know it by heart, then it wouldn't matter to you if we were...I don't know...distracted?"

Heat covers ever inch of my body. All over…everywhere.

"I already told you...I like when you distract me."

He reaches across and brushes my hair back off my shoulder.

"I like distracting you."

"Edward, have you seen Atonement?"

"Nope. Is it good?"

"It's just the best movie ever."

_Well, at least one scene._

We settle in as the movie starts. Edward wraps an arm around me. I can tell he's trying to be a gentleman, but he also stokes my shoulder with his fingers. It tickles. And the sexiest thing is that I don't think he even realizes he's doing it.

He's actually watching – which is impressive. Especially since the beginning of this movie is kind of quiet and slightly confusing if you don't know what's going on. But I know what's coming. And with every moment that passes – that takes us closer to the scene in the library – I grow a little more breathless.

And a lot more aroused.

And then it happens.

The moment he pushes her up against the shelf in the library, I sneak a peek at Edward. His eyes are wide, his mouth is slightly open. And he's breathing just a little more erratically than before. He grips my shoulder a little tighter.

As the sounds of sex play over the speakers, I place my hand on Edward's thigh.

"So, what do you think of my favorite movie so far?" I whisper in his ear.

His arm slips lower on my back…and he pulls me just a little bit closer.

"I think...it's good," he says a little more husky than I expect. "It would be _embarrassing_ to get caught having sex in the library, wouldn't it?"

He's looking down at me and licking his lips. He bites down just a little.

"I suppose," I tell him as evenly as I can manage. "I guess if you were gonna..._have sex in a library_...you would just have to make sure you didn't get caught."

I'm basically whispering. The moment feels like we are conspiring together. Which means that Edward might want to have sex in the library.

"Like, maybe back in the non-fiction section. Where it's secluded."

He leans in just a little closer.

"Exactly like that," tell him. "Have you ever...thought about sex in the library?"

He fidgets nervously. But he doesn't pull away. He looks down at my lips. I lick them.

_Please say yes._

_For the love of god, please say yes._

"Umm...actually, I have," he admits. "It's sort of...a _fantasy_ of mine."

And now, the movie is forgotten because Edward Cullen has fantasies.

Sex fantasies.

_Did he really just say that?_

"So, you've never done it, then?" I ask. "You know...sex? In a library. Of course in a library. I mean, I'm not asking you if you ever had sex. Just about your...fantasy."

_Kill me now._

_Please…just kill me now._

I cannot believe I just asked him if he's had sex.

"No, I've never had sex...in a library."

_Okay._

"But you'd like to..."

"I would love to, yes."

And I'm certain it's a million degrees in this basement. Thank god I took of my sweater. And panties.

I'm trying not to clench my legs together, but this need that I've never really had before is just…aching. I'm completely and utterly aroused by him.

Edward Cullen is going to kill me.

I take a deep breath and ask,"So, when you _fantasize_ about it, what are you doing?"

His hand grips my shoulder hard – and I don't think that he means to. Or maybe he does. I don't really care, as long as he continues to touch me.

His eyes are dark – so dark, they don't even look green anymore.

They're needy, lovely.

I stoke his thigh a little harder…a little higher.

He whimpers, and I still my hand just south of where I was touching him earlier in the day.

"Bella, I... I don't know if we should talk about this. I mean, I'm trying, really, really hard to be respectful. But your hand is on my thigh, and we just watched two people fuck against a bookshelf, and you're asking about my sexual fantasies, and..."

I interrupt, not only because I have to, but because Edward Cullen just said _fuck_.

He needs to say that all the time.

"Well, maybe it would make you feel better...more like talking, if you put your hand on _my_ thigh. Also, you just said fuck. That's _so..._"

"That's so what?"

"_Hot_."

The word has barely left my mouth before he's kissing me. And this kiss – it's nothing like earlier today. It's hot and deep and desperate. With open mouths and touching tongues. And this little moan that he makes in my mouth. The sound of which I will remember forever.

And Jesus, he tastes he really freaking good.

His hand is holding my hair, while the other one slides down my back…over my ass…along my leg.

I'm panting and kissing and _seriously _– no kiss has _ever_ been like this before.

And then – just like I wanted – Edward grips the hem of my dress in his fist and then runs his open palm up the bare skin of my thigh.

Underneath my dress.

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	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

* * *

Bella's mouth is warm and hot, and I know…I know we're moving too fast. But I can't stop. Not when she's moaning into my mouth and trying to hitch her leg around my hip. And not when my hand is under her dress. I'm careful...so careful not to touch anything except her thigh. Her creamy, soft thigh. Thinking about her thigh makes me think about her panties, and thinking about her panties brings me back to my senses.

I pull my hand away from her thigh.

And rest it on her ass instead.

See?

Respectful.

We continue to kiss, and when we need air, we kiss each others' necks. It's like our lips are permanently attached at all times, and it's fucking amazing and crazy and _holy shit_ I'm hard.

"Bella, we have to stop."

"Why?" she whispers breathlessly against my lips.

"It's just our first date, and no matter how much I want you...we have to slow down, just a little."

She bows her head, just a little.

"Do you think...I mean...am I coming on too strong?"

And I see it. The absolute rejection in her eyes. I smooth the hair away from her face and gently cup her cheek, forcing her to look at me. Because it's absolutely important she hears this.

"No, it's just...you're so sweet, Bella. I really, really like you."

She blushes, and I can't resist kissing her pink cheeks. She's so pretty.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"It's personal," I warn her.

"I think we've reached a point in our...relationship...where we can ask personal questions."

I take a deep breath.

"I need to know…because I really don't want to do the wrong thing here, so I'm gonna need you to tell me what it is you're thinking. Because I really like you, and I'm a guy and you have to know…you have to know that this isn't about me _not _wanting you. I want you. I want whatever you want."

I hope that makes sense, because I can't stand the look of rejection on her face. She has to know I want her. She has to believe that.

She sighs deeply. "I mean, you should probably know…and this is ridiculously embarrassing, but I've never really had sex...in the traditional sense, so I'm not sure how far I want to go, honestly. I mean...I want to go...far. Obviously. It's just that when I'm with you, I feel like the world might explode if I don't...touch you or something. Do you know what I mean?"

I do know, because I feel the exact same way whenever I'm around her. Even when I'm _not_ around her.

I slide my hand along her arm. "Bella, I think—at this point in our relationship—I think touching is okay. I'm all about touching. What do you think?"

Her voice is hushed and low.

"I think that's the best idea ever."

I kiss her softly, gently teasing her bottom lip with my tongue. Her low groan is the sexiest thing ever, and I push her back against the couch, letting my hand slide up her leg and along her thigh. We kiss with sweet lips and wet tongues as my hand trails along her stomach, until finally resting just beneath her breast. She's panting and arching and just silently begging me to touch her.

And I want to.

So I do.

And it's not a gentle brushing of my fingers. I cup her breast, squeezing it firmly and letting my fingertip slide until I find her nipple.

She cries out, and the sound is like a jolt of adrenaline straight to my cock.

"Oh god," she whimpers.

I kiss her, hard and deep, as my hand continues stroking one breast, and then the other. Suddenly, I feel her hand against my cock, and I groan into her mouth as her fingers wrap around me. She rubs me slowly at first, but my noises must give her courage, because her movements become a little more frantic, which make my movements a little more frantic, and the next thing I know my hand is beneath her dress and resting on her stomach. Her flesh is smooth and soft, and my hand obviously has a mind of its own, because it drifts lower, and lower…

_Just the panties. I just want to make her feel good, and to do that, I __**must touch**__ the panties._

But all I feel is flesh.

Creamy, soft, heated flesh.

And that's when I realize…

Bella Swan isn't wearing any panties.

* * *

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**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

* * *

Kissing Edward is unlike anything I've ever experienced. And making out with him – well, it's like nothing I could possibly have ever imagined.

It's the way his hands feel. Just like I told him today in the library. And warm and big and perfect while he touches me, holds me, pulls me closer.

It's the way his mouth is all sweet and wet and seeking. Seeking something…seeking me.

I don't even think about it when he slides his hand up my thigh. I don't even question it for a moment. Because it's like his hand is _supposed_ to be there. Touching me like this. And of course, writhing and whimpering and possibly heaving like the pagan in today's book.

But I don't care.

_I can't care._

I even forget that I'm not wearing panties. His hands and mouth and tongue – they make me stupid. They make me forget that I am actually not all that experienced. Hell, other than my own masturbatory efforts, I am completely lacking experience.

And Edward makes me want to experience things.

Everything.

Things I probably can't even begin to know.

But I want to.

And then it happens. Edward's hand slides a little higher and barely grazes what I have deliberately exposed for him and hoped he would find.

"Oh, Jesus," he moans…he gasps. "Fuck."

And I gasp, too. Not because it scares me – although, admittedly it does a little bit – but because it feels fucking amazing. And not in the way things generally feel amazing. But like, oh-my-god-it-never-feels-that-fucking-good-when-I- do-that amazing.

I moan.

It's loud.

It's potentially horrifying, and becomes even more horrifying by the moment, because I push myself against his hand.

Like a hussy.

Like a wanton hussy who takes off her panties in the bathroom on her first date.

_Oh my god._

_I took my panties off in the bathroom on my first date with Edward._

_That has to be some sort of slut record._

And wrapping my mind around all of this information is impossible because I feel like I'm one big ball of need. I need him to touch me more. I need to feel how I feel over and over again until the freaking end of time. Because it's just that good. It's hot and perfect and it's too, too much.

But now he probably thinks I'm a whore.

So, I do the only thing I can – I pull back. Away from his hand. And kind of away from him, but not really because he's won't let me go. He's still holding me as he sits there wide-eyes and panting.

Just like me.

"Holy shit, that was amazing," I blurt out because it was. And because the universe hates me – or possibly because even Aphrodite, the goddess of sex is mortified by my behavior – I can't stop talking. "I didn't expect…and oh, my god…your hand…it was there. And just…just…it was too much. _Too good_. And I'm not…and I haven't…and you, you're…"

"Bella...I didn't...I had no idea that...you..."

"Of course you didn't. I did. I'm the one that..." I say, exasperated and embarrassed. "And then I just forgot because we were kissing and touching and it just felt so good that I..."

I don't really know how to tell him that I was so completely horny – and stupid – that I was basically ready to just beg him to get naked and never stop touching me like that again.

"I just wanted to touch you...like you'd touched me," he says, like the perfect man that he is. "I wanted to make you feel good. Was it...was it good? I mean, did you like it?"

His voice is so sincere. And he looks nervous…and confused. And why wouldn't he be confused? I mean, first I'm naked under my skirt and practically begging him to touch me. And then when he does, I jump away like a virgin idiot because it feels too good.

Yeah, that's normal.

"Edward, it was..." I pause, trying to collect my thoughts. I need him to understand that I wanted this. "I don't if I can explain just how _good_ it was. I mean, it was like...like... _The best thing ever_. Too good, you know? Like, the kind of good that you never knew was even possible. And I wasn't..."

_Do not say ready._

_Do not say ready._

And without warning, Edward just pulls me over to him and onto his lap. And I'm oddly aware of my lack of panties suddenly. And I wonder if maybe I shouldn't out them back on. I'm also aware that he's still hard. And I find the fact that he's still turned on comforting. You know, because it means that he still wants me.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he murmurs softly. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"You didn't freak me out. It was me, okay? I just thought that...I mean I think that I wanted it. And I do, but... You must think that I'm some sort of sex lunatic."

I bury my head into his neck and shoulder.

He chuckles softly, and strokes the bare skin on my back. I feel like a kitten – like I'm seconds away from purring.

_What is he doing to me?_

"I don't think you're a lunatic," he tells me. "I think you're sweet, and you have the sexiest little moan I've ever heard."

At his words, I press myself in a little closer.

"You think I'm sexy? You think my _moans_ are...sexy?"

I pull back a little – just enough to see his face.

"So sexy. It's a definite turn-on to hear how much you're...turned-on, you know?"

"Uh...yeah," I tell him lamely. Because I do know. "And you, too - the way you sound and your hands. I mean, I just...you make me feel..."

His breathing is deeper, his breath sweet and soft against my face.

He licks his already wet lips, and I have to fight the urge to kiss him again.

Even though I really want to.

"What, Bella? How do I make you feel?"

"You make me feel like nothing any book could've ever prepared me for."

* * *

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**But we are still accepting panties if you are so inclined. :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

* * *

After dropping Bella off at her house, I take a long drive around town, trying to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight.

I was not prepared.

At all.

I mean, sure…with the parents gone and Bella in my basement, I'd hoped that we'd completely ignore the movie and concentrate on each other instead. I'd wanted to kiss and make-out and touch her inappropriately while still keeping a respectful line drawn in the sand, but then she picked _that_ movie, with _that_ scene in the library.

I can't lie. I imagined Bella's face on Keira Knightley's, and I imagined it was me pounding into her as I held her against the bookshelf. And I was feeling pretty guilty about that until she started quizzing me about the non-fiction section and my fantasies, and then we kissed…and it wasn't like the sweet library kiss. It was hot and wild and I wanted to touch every inch of her.

I just never expected to _really_ touch every inch of her.

I'll never forget her loud, sexy moan when my fingers found her heated flesh, and the realization that she hadn't been wearing panties all night long nearly drove me insane.

It's still driving me insane.

When she pressed against my hand, I was sure she wanted more, and I was so overcome with lust that I probably would have done more. I would have given her anything she wanted.

But she pulled away.

And that's the most confusing part of all.

Because wouldn't the lack of panties kind of suggest that she wanted…_more_?

She explained it, sort of, and it's fine that she pulled away. It's absolutely okay that she did. I'm just confused, because I don't know what she wants. What she needs. And since we find it a little impossible to keep our hands to ourselves, and since we both lose our minds whenever we kiss, Bella and I are going to have to find a way to talk about this.

_"You make me feel like nothing any book could've ever prepared me for."_

I didn't laugh at the time, but I think it's pretty funny now, because no book could really prepare you for something like…

And that's when it hits me.

The books.

_The books_.

I step on the gas and race home.

My mom loves books, which is probably where I get it. One of the best things about this monstrosity of a house is the library. It's filled from the ceiling to the floor with first editions and rare, out-of-print volumes that my parents have collected throughout the years. Some were found at auction; others were passed down from my grandparents. I started reading and writing when I was four, and I can remember my mom bursting into tears when I read _Where the Wild Things Are_ all by myself.

Of course, by that time, I had it memorized, but whatever.

She was proud, and so was I.

Mom is a women's literature fanatic, which is why I know so much about Wharton and Bronte and Plath.

Bella told me to start with _Summer_, so I scan the shelves until I find it. I remember reading it, and I remember hating the ending, but I can't really remember what it was about.

I grab the book and settle down onto the floor. I flip, and I flip…trying to find something, anything, that'll give me a clue.

_Summer_ is about Charity's sexual awakening.

_That's it._

Bella wants to experience it all, but she's _afraid_ to experience it, because it's unknown. It's scary. It's exciting. It makes her curious enough to read trashy novels. It makes her brave enough to take off her panties. It makes her hesitant enough to pull away.

She wants it all.

I want to give it to her.

It's late, but I feel this is probably something she needs to know. I put the book back on the shelf and run up the stairs, locking my door behind me. I pull my phone out of my pocket and collapse against my bed.

She answers on the first ring.

"I know we already said good night. I just wanted to make sure you're okay," I tell her.

"I'm okay. I'm good. I'm better than good, I promise."

"Good," I reply. "Umm…I also want you to know that I get it now. I understand."

"You understand what?"

"With the books. I understand what you were trying to tell me."

Her breath hitches. It's just a slight change, but I hear it.

"Really? You do?"

"I think so, yeah. I mean...this is going to be really embarrassing if I'm wrong, but I think I do."

I can hear the excitement in her voice. "Okay. So, tell me...what are your theories?"

"Well, you told me to start with _Summer_, and that book is all about Charity's sexual awakening, right? And I think...this summer, _our_ summer together, could be about…that. If you want it to be."

I'll feel like the biggest asshole ever if I'm wrong about this.

But then I hear her sigh of relief, and I know I'm right.

"I mean...that's...really perceptive, Edward. I guess I just didn't know if you would...and then you did. And the sexual awakening thing...uh, yeah. Well, that would be... I want that. With you. Umm...this summer."

_Thank god._

"I want that with you, too, Bella, and I was thinking…"

"What were you thinking about?"

This is risky, and I know it, but I also know that Bella took a huge risk tonight by wearing no underwear in my basement, so I figure…it's time for me to nut up or shut up.

_Thank you, Zombieland._

"I was thinking we could start tonight, if you wanted."

"Ummm...okay," she says. "How exactly did you want to start tonight? Since you're there and I'm here."

"I definitely think I should be there," I murmur.

Her quiet gasp makes me smile.

"You wanna come over?" she asks excitedly. Nervously. More excitedly, I think.

I hope.

"I wanna come over," I tell her.

* * *

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	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

* * *

Edward is coming over.

Like right now.

Like right freaking now.

He called me not too long after he brought me home and he said all these wonderful things. You know, about the fact that he actually thought about the books. He possibly spent time reading the book – _Summer_ – a book he was vocal about disliking.

But he read it, or at the very least, thought about it…for me.

I don't even know what to do with that.

I look around my room – it's a disaster. Clothes and books are everywhere. My bed is unmade. And for the next ten minutes, I don't even have time to think about Edward because I'm running around cleaning up and making my room appropriate for him to see.

Edward is going to be in my room.

On my bed.

Awakening me sexually.

_Jesus._

When he knocks on the door, I shut my closet, where I have shoved everything, and I practically run down the stairs to let him in. And he's standing there in the moonlight. A soft, nervous expression covers his face. Nervous, but excited.

I recognize it.

I feel the same way.

I can't help the way I just want to launch myself at him. But I decide that might only confuse him more. And I don't want him to be confused. I want him to know…that I want this.

"I feel like I just saw you," I tease, grinning and stepping to the side, so he can come in.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," I tell him. "I don't think it is."

I take his hand and lead him upstairs. I don't even ask if he wants to stay downstairs because after earlier tonight, I definitely don't want to send him any mixed messages.

"Sorry about the mess...I wasn't exactly expecting company."

"Would you rather me wait downstairs until you're finished cleaning?" he teases, grinning.

And this – this feels good. This feels easier.

"No. I think I like you in here."

I lead him over to the double bed in the center of my room. I made it – well, I kind of made it. I sit down, tugging on his hand and pulling him down with me. He looks around, and I can't take my eyes off of him.

"I like your room."

"It's alright. It's kind of stayed the same since I've been in college. Charlie doesn't like change. Also, I think he's afraid of girlie things, so he pretty much avoids coming in here."

"Charlie's your dad?" he asks. I nod my head. "And he's...gone for the night, right?"

His voice is a little deeper than before, his eyes a little darker. I shiver even though it's not really all that cool in my room.

"Yeah. He won't be back until noon tomorrow." My voice is filled with insinuation. I want him to know that we're alone – that there won't be any interruptions.

The window is open, but there's not really any sound filtering in from outside. The night is quiet…kind of like this moment.

"That's...good. I left my parents a note, telling them I didn't know when I'd be back. I mean, I know I'm twenty-one, but it's their house, so I try to, you know, be respectful."

"You're very..._respectful_."

And he is. He was nothing short of careful with me tonight. Even while I sort of had a moment, a panic attack…whatever.

But his words from the phone keep playing in my mind.

_The sexual awakening thing… I want that. With you._

And I want it, too.

My hand is still in his, but I trail my fingers whisper-soft against his palm. And then I move my hand up his arm. Rubbing him…tickling him.

"Are you nervous, Bella?"

"Maybe," I say. It's honest – just not completely honest. "But not really. Does that make sense? I mean, I'm not nervous about you being here or anything. Just..._you_ make me nervous."

"Why do I make you nervous?"

_Because you're amazing._

He moves in a little closer, and my heart pounds inside my chest. I bring my hand back down to his, lifting it up, and placing his palm against my chest.

"Feel that?"

I can see his own pulse inside his neck as he swallows.

It's rapid like mine.

"Yeah."

"It's always like that," I tell him, looking in his eyes. "Whenever I'm around you. Even at the library...even when I'm just checking out a book."

"Bella," he says my name so soft before he presses me back against the bed and kisses me.

And his kiss is a novel – it's a story in itself. A million words, a thousand paragraphs written delicately and deliberately.

I taste him, and he sweet.

I feel him and he's hot.

It's the kind of kiss I've read about, but never imagined it could actually happen.

Except that it is.

Right now, it is.

His lips slow with gentle presses and licks until I'm breathless.

"You're really good at that," I say, opening my eyes as he settles beside me.

"At kissing?"

"Yeah...at kissing and..."

"Other stuff?"

He smiles.

"Other stuff."

There are no words for a while. Just the feeling of Edward's hands on me…and mine on him. It's not rushed like before, but the heat…it's there.

It's everywhere.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask.

I know I don't have to ask, but I like it when he tells me, "Yes."

He tucks my hair behind my ear and then his finger grazes my cheek…and then my lips.

I kiss it.

"So, have you...I mean...is this your..." I stammer a little. Not because I'm nervous, but because he's touching my neck…my chest. "Have you done this before?"

"Are you asking if I'm a virgin?" His tone is gentle and teasing.

"Yes, I'm asking if you've had sex."

"Yes, I've had sex."

While I don't want to think about him with anyone else, a part of me is relieved that one of knows what we're doing. I mean, I know the basics. Well, I know more than the basics. But I like that he's had experience.

"Not a lot," he tells me, his voice reassuring. "I mean, I've had girlfriends."

I definitely don't want to think about his girlfriends.

I change the subject.

"Can I ask you another question?" He nods, but I find it hard to concentrate because he leans in and kisses my neck. It's just a little…but it's a lot. I try to focus. "How did you figure it out?"

"Lots of practice," he murmurs.

_Wait._

_What?_

I laugh.

I mean, I want to be furious at all his practice, but I can't be mad at him when he touches me like he's touching me right now. All over – like he's trying to learn my body.

"Not sex, Romeo," I giggle. "I'm not asking you how you figured out _sex_."

I feign offense and pretend to be scandalized by his sexual history. And he looks embarrassed and contrite.

I love the way his ears turn red.

I love the way they turn _so_ red I can see the color in the moonlight.

"Figure what out?"

"You know...the books?"

"Oh!" He laughs, and I relax even more. "It was something you said, actually...about how books couldn't prepare you. And that's when I realized that _maybe_...you were reading about sexual awakenings because...you wanted to be awakened."

I'm pretty sure I could listen to him say "sexual awakening" all the time.

"Did that surprise you?"

"It surprised me that it took me so long to figure out," he chuckles.

"Yeah, you seem pretty smart. Except for that whole 'Edith Wharton is overrated' thing. Still think that?"

He smiles down at me, and all of this feels so simple. Right now – it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

"Yes, but that doesn't matter. Not right now." His voice is sexy and low.

"What matters right now?"

"That's you're here. And I'm here. And whenever I slide my hand along your arm," he says, and as he says it, he does exactly that, "your skin gets goosebumps."

The room is too hot now, or maybe it's just him. But I'm flushed, needy. And I don't know if I want to spread my legs or clench them together. The desire to do both is ridiculously strong.

"That's not the only thing that happens when you do that."

"Oh yeah? What else happens?"

His hand slides from my shoulder and covers my breast – just touching not squeezing.

"When you touch me like that...or any way at all," I whisper, "you make me really wet."

I should feel nervous about the words – especially after tonight. But I don't. I want him. I want him to touch me, to feel me, to know what he does to me.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

He leans completely on his side, facing me. His eyes are questioning, wanting. And god, I want him, too.

"I want to touch you."

"Please," I whisper. "Touch me."

His mouth covers mine, kissing me again. It's deep and wet and the sweetest suction. And then he licks my lips as his hand trails down my belly, along my thigh…and barely under my skirt.

And he stops.

"There?" he asks.

He doesn't want there to be a question this time. And neither do I. So I nod my head, telling him, begging him.

_Please, don't stop._

It takes him a million minutes to slide up the length of my thigh. He hovers around my hipbone while he kisses my chest, my cheek, my neck. Panting in my ear, he whispers, "Spread your legs."

"Oh, god," I moan, but I do it.

Just exactly like he said.

Because he seriously just said that, and it was the hottest thing I've ever heard.

And then I feel just the trace of his fingers over my lips. It's nothing at all and I need so much more.

I whimper.

It's embarrassing.

Only I can't be embarrassed because I want this so fucking much.

"Shhh…" he hushes me. "I want to… I want to make it good."

And then he slips two fingers just inside. I feel him spread me as he slides them up and down. And this intense pleasure shoots through me – it pulses with a sort of almost-electricity.

"You're…god, you're so wet."

And I want to tell him, _I told you. This is what you do to me_.

But I can't because I'm writhing and pushing and pressing myself against his hand.

He doesn't seek out my clit, like I do when I touch myself. He teases and plays and touches everything around it.

And then I hear his voice in my ear. And really – oh my god – how can he be talking to me, right now?

"When you touch yourself, do you put your fingers inside?"

I nod my head and pull his face down to me. Kissing him and hoping that he will just do it. Because the thought of him inside me – _any part of him at all_ – is going to make me come.

And then I feel it, pressing and penetrating. And _Jesus_, his finger is so different from my finger.

It stretches.

It burns.

It melts into this delicious heat inside me.

I whimper into his mouth as I clench my legs around his hand.

"Open, Bella," he says. "I need you open, so I can make you come."

Everything bleeds together – his fingers, his mouth, his words.

And all of it- every bit of it – works.

And I don't care that I look stupid, when nothing has ever, ever felt this good before.

And then I feel it – it rushes over me. It covers me. It causes me push out my legs and thrust against his hand.

"Oh, _Jesus_, are you coming?"

He says it like he doesn't know – like he has no idea what he's doing to me. But I can't think about the ridiculousness of that because I'm falling apart and screaming his name and coming all over his hand.

* * *

**Leave us some love, please.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

* * *

Hearing Bella scream my name while she comes is, without a doubt, the sexiest thing I've ever heard. I thought her little moans were sexy, but no…

No.

Her entire body trembles and shakes, and her eyes are closed, which sucks for me, because the only thing sexier than hearing her come is _watching_ her come, and I'd love to stare into her eyes when that happens.

_Next time._

"That was…" she's breathless and panting, and I can't lie.

I'm smug.

And horny.

"Good?"

"So fucking good," she murmurs.

I sigh, because Bella saying _fuck_ is now the sexiest thing I've ever heard, and I realize that, where Bella's concerned, my sexiest list is going to be ever-changing.

Or maybe…everything she does is sexy.

"Your turn," she whispers, rising quickly and pushing me back against the mattress.

Like that. That was sexy.

"_Jesus_." I groan as her eager hand grabs the button of my jeans. Her tiny fingers work the zipper, and I lift my hips as she impatiently pulls them down. I have no idea what's about to happen, but whatever it is…

It's going to be quick.

But then she stops.

And stares.

And I have no idea what that means.

"Bella?"

"It's...wow."

I grin, because don't all guys want to hear _wow _when their dick's on display?

She bites her lip and slowly slides her finger along the length of me.

"Fuck," I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Is this…good? I mean…it's my first time, so I don't know if…"

I open my eyes to find her blushing furiously.

"Mine's the first you've ever…touched?"

Bella nods.

"Touched. Seen. Yeah, yours is the first."

She glides her fingers along me, and my back arches off the bed. For someone so inexperienced and unsure, she's doing a fucking fantastic job of driving me insane. Her fingers are warm, gentle…and I can just imagine how her hand will feel…

_Or her mouth._

"Will you teach me how?" Her voice is soft as a whisper, but I hear the excitement in her voice. "I want it to be good for you, too."

And I nearly come. Right then and there.

"Having your hand…anywhere near my dick is good, Bella. Trust me."

"Like this?"

And her hard wraps around me.

I groan hoarsely, because for someone who claims to know nothing, she's a natural. She applies the perfect amount of pressure, stroking me up and down, firmly…rhythmically.

"That's…that's perfect. Just like that."

Without missing a beat, she leans over. I smell her—all tangerine and sex, and I groan when her lips find mine. Then she's gone, bowing her head and pressing kisses against my thigh.

"Bella, baby…"

It's a warning, because I'm so close…

She gasps softly. "I love that. Say it again."

"Kiss me again," I beg.

"Okay."

And that's when the sweet, inexperienced girl removes her hand…

And kisses the tip.

Just the tip.

"Fuck me," I groan loudly, and stars explode behind my eyes as I come all over her hand.

I'm breathless, sweaty, messy…

Bella kisses me softly on the lips before reaching for a box of tissue on her nightstand.

"Sorry," I whisper breathlessly.

"I'm not."

"Good, because neither am I."

We smile at each other.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you should definitely spend the night."

"I think I should, too."

"Good," she says, climbing off the bed and tossing our tissues into the wastebasket near her bed. "I'm just going to change out of this dress, okay?"

I nod. My jeans and underwear are…somewhere. I assume kicked to the floor, so I pull my shirt over my head.

Bella's eyes widen.

"Is this okay?" I ask.

She's biting her lip, and holy hell, it's hot. "Can I…sleep in your shirt?"

For a moment I'm devastated, because I can't imagine anything better than sleeping with her skin against mine, but then I imagine how sexy she'd look in my shirt.

"Of course."

We dress quickly—me in my underwear and Bella in my shirt—and we climb under the blanket. She snuggles into my arms, and it's natural and easy and perfect.

_She's perfect._

"Thank you…for tonight," she says softly.

"You don't have to thank me, baby."

Bella sighs contently. "I love when you call me that."

"Then I'll call you that every day," I tell her. "Just… make me a promise?"

"Anything."

I slide my fingers through her hair, kissing her forehead.

"Promise me this is just the beginning?"

She wraps her arm around my middle, squeezing me tightly.

"Just the beginning," she says.

We lay together, talking quietly about absolutely nothing, until her breathing evens out, and I know she's asleep.

I'm staring at the ceiling, surrounded by her scent and her warmth, when I realize that tonight wasn't just for Bella. Tonight wasn't just about her sexual awakening.

Tonight, I was awakened, too.

* * *

**Please leave us love. :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

* * *

I woke up next to Edward Cullen today.

I can't stop thinking about soft, slow breaths and sleepy eyes that opened to meet mine.

I can't stop thinking about twined legs and twisted sheets, bodies curved against each other.

I can't stop thinking about parted lips and pressing tongues sweet goodbye-kisses.

It's kind of crazy, but it's this beautiful, exciting kind of crazy. It's this warm that grows hot as the morning passes – just like the sun that has amazingly made a repeat appearance today.

I hope the library is empty again.

He had to go to work, so I've stayed busy with nothing of importance. Downloading silly love songs that until a week ago, I would have considered embarrassing. They're still embarrassing, but no one will ever know I own them.

I try to read Bronte – Emily, because she was the best. But the tone of the book is all wrong for my mood. Everything in the world is happy and bright. And nothing in the world is gothic or tragic. I choose Austen instead.

Brandon, not Darcy.

I look at the clock and count the minutes to what I feel is the appropriate time to go and see him – a time that won't make me seem too eager or crazy.

I wanted to go immediately.

I want to go right now.

I wonder if he's thinking the exact same thing.

And then he texts.

_If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever. _

_- Alfred Lord Tennyson_

I want to vomit rainbows.

When I walk into the library, the cool air rushes over me. But his eyes meet mine almost instantly, and absolutely nothing is cold.

Not my blush, not the space between my legs.

He's with a patron – a woman with her three children. Kids kind of annoy me, so I walk down an aisle and look for the book I was reading earlier. I hold it in my hand, flipping until I find the passage that I'd found while I was reading. I fold down the corner, then I wander around looking to see if anyone else is here.

They're not.

It's totally empty.

I walk back to the nonfiction section, I sit down on the floor, pretending to read, and I wait for him to come and find me.

Not even a minute later, he does.

"Whatcha doing down there?"

"Reading." I grin. "I like it back here. It's quiet."

He leans back against the bookcase in front of me – legs crossed, hands gripping the shelf.

Seriously.

I can't stop staring.

"Quiet and secluded." His voice is laced with innuendo.

"I hadn't really thought about it being secluded," I tease.

He grins.

I grin back, knowing full-well that all I have done is think about how secluded it is back here. Especially after yesterday, and of course last night when Edward shared his fantasy.

_Fuck, his fantasy…_

"I don't believe you."

"That's right," I tell him. "We've already established you're perceptive."

He doesn't miss a beat – he just laughs and says, "Exactly."

And this is my life right now – flirting with a man who seems to find me equally as fascinating as I find him. I wondered when this would happen. If this would ever happen. In the past, with other guys, they were either interested, and I wasn't. Or I was interested, but invisible.

It's nice to be seen.

And I want to see him – even more than I already do. I want to know him. I want to spend the whole summer reading books and trying to read his mind.

But I'm really hoping that he's just willing to share it all with me.

I realize I'm staring, so I look down at the book.

"What are you reading?" he asks.

"Sense and Sensibility."

I wait for a snarky comment about Austen. Men never seem to appreciate the subtle work of such an amazing female mind.

But Edward surprises me. "My mom's favorite."

"Really?" I ask, smiling big. "People generally love Pride and Prejudice most. My personal favorite is Mansfield Park. But there's something about this that...resonates with me. At least today."

"I've never read it. Why does it resonate with you today?"

I flip to the page I marked in the book.

"Umm...for a lot of reasons, actually. But I was just reading this:

"_It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy – it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others."_

I'm almost afraid to look up, and just from reading those words, my heart is pounding like mad. But then I remember that Edward sent me Tennyson – maybe because he thought it would impress me or maybe because he was feeling sentimental himself. But either way, Edward was thinking about me.

Just like I'd been thinking about him all day.

Every single day since I first saw him.

So, I chance a look up. His expression is soft, but there's something about his eyes as he looks at me.

Something deeper than before.

"You know what I think?" he asks.

"What?"

"It won't take us nearly that long."

I blush…all over.

Everywhere.

And every part of my body tingles with this need that has lingered since he left my bed this morning.

"You know what _I_ think?" I ask.

"What's that?"

I just do it – I give him the truth.

"I think I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since you left this morning."

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, either," he says quickly, quietly. "Why do you think I was texting cheesy poetry?"

There's a sincerity in his voice that reaches out and just grabs hold of the girl inside me.

"Poetry is _not_ cheesy."

"Did you like it? The poetry?"

"I might want to walk with you in your garden."

Then, with his eyes never leaving mine, he bends down and takes the book from my hands. It falls to the floor beside me, as he pulls me up until I'm standing just in front of him.

My heart pounds.

His does, too.

And then he kisses me over and over and over again.

And standing in the library with his arms wrapped around me is so much better than the sun shining outside.

I don't think about what I'm doing. One minute my hands are on his stomach, and the next thing I know, they're reaching for his pants. I hesitate just for a moment – wondering if he'll try to stop me.

He doesn't.

I kiss his lips one more time, then his cheek, then his neck.

I don't have to tell myself that I want this – that I want to do this.

And I think he wants this, too.

So, I slide down to my knees in front of him.

"Bella, I…" His voice dies the moment I reach inside his pants. I would almost find it comical except for the small part of me that's really scared that I have no idea what I'm doing.

He's already hard and so fucking hot as I take him in my hand.

His whimper becomes a moan as I awkwardly pull down his pants a little. This sound is encouraging, so I don't stop. For a second, I wonder if there are cameras in here, but I assume that he would warn me if that were the case. Also, I realize that I'm looking at him in my hand, and his pants are pushed down on his thighs. And the sight of that is just so good, so _erotic_ that I forget everything else.

I kiss it.

Just once.

And now he's moaning more, breathing hard and erratically. His hands are on my head, his fingers in my hair.

_Please don't let anyone walk in._

_Please don't let anyone walk in._

I don't know who I'm talking to – I'm fairly certain I'm not praying. God probably doesn't listen to women who do this in public places.

I look up at him once more, and his eyes are wild…needy. I know that look. I felt the same way with him last night.

"Please," he whimpers.

And then I just do it – I take him in my mouth.

I realize quickly there's no real science or art to it. I kiss and lick and suck him like I would a thumb.

_A really big thumb._

He tastes like salt and skin and traces of soap, but none of that matters because the sounds he's making are so fucking sexy – even more than they were last night. And I can't help but imagine what it will feel like when he finally puts his mouth on me…

"Jesus, fuck…"

I suck him harder.

I don't know why – if it's the thought of reciprocation or the fact that he's enjoying it. Maybe both. Probably both. And with his dick in my mouth, I panic for a moment because I don't know what I should do when he comes.

I don't if I should swallow.

I don't know if he wants me to…_if I want me to_.

But before I can decide, he's saying my name over and over along with words like _oh, god_ and _move_ and then finally, _I'm coming_.

It's slick and salt in my mouth, and I can't lie and say it's awesome. But it's him…and I made him do that. And that makes it easier to swallow.

He's soft and wet as he slips from my mouth, and before I can be embarrassed, he's pulling me up and trying to kiss me. It try to pull away because, you know... But he tells me, "I don't care," and then kisses me like it doesn't.

"That was fucking amazing, Bella," he says, still breathing hard.

"Yeah?" I ask, equally embarrassed and proud of what I just did. "You weren't...worried that we would get caught?"

"We're pretty hidden back here," he says, pulling me even closer. I settle easily against him. "Although, I have to admit, the chance of getting caught...made it even hotter. You know?"

I grin against his chest and murmur, "So, it was like your...fantasy?"

"It's...part of my fantasy. My ultimate fantasy is more like...that movie, to be honest."

I feel the heat cover my face, not because I don't want that, but because I do.

Just maybe not right at this moment.

"But that can come later," he says. I look up at him, and he kisses me gently. "Much later, if you want."

"Maybe…just later."

He chuckles and I reach down to straighten him out. I fight the urge to touch him again even though I might want to.

"Two things have to happen before...that can happen."

"What two things?" I ask.

"First, you have to let me take out on a second date. A real date," he tells me seriously, sweetly. His hand touches my neck, his thumb traces small circles. "And, secondly, you have to tell me one of _your_ fantasies."

* * *

Leave us some love. Or tell us one of your fantasies.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Bella's looking up at me with those big brown eyes, all innocent and flirty, like she's not dying to tell me her deepest, darkest fantasy.

But she is.

I can tell.

And I want to hear it. But more than that, I want to make it a reality. After all, she'd just fulfilled one of mine.

I caress her face, softly and tenderly. She sighs, closes her eyes, and melts against me. I'm struck, once again, by how beautiful she is.

Have I ever told her so?

"You're really pretty, Bella."

She blushes. She blushes a lot, actually, and I love it. She blushes when she's embarrassed. Or shy.

Or aroused.

That's my favorite.

"So tell me," I say softly.

"Tell you what?"

She's being coy, so I use my secret weapon. Something I know she really, really loves.

"Come on, baby," I murmur, pulling her closer. "Tell me one of your fantasies."

Her breath hitches, and I resist the urge to fist-pump the air, because that would mean letting her go, and that's the last thing I want to do.

"Will you promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"Okay...I _do_ have this one fantasy," she says. "I mean, it's kind of like a fantasy. I guess it's more like a feeling, though. It's just...something...something... I'm not sure I can explain it well, though."

"That's okay. Just tell me," I encourage her.

"Well, I mean...I guess my fantasy is this. Whenever I think about _sex_...I mean, you know, whenever I've like imagined it or dreamed about it, there's always one thing. And it's probably lame, and you probably won't even understand it because - like I told you - I don't know if I can put it into words. I just...want to _want_ it. Like, I want the kind of sex that you just can't stop. Because he...I mean _you_..."

I chuckle, and she's blushing. Again.

Beautiful.

"Like, you just want it so much," she continues, "and you make _me_ want it so much...that it doesn't matter where we are or what we're doing. That we just have to...do it. Right now. In that moment. And I know it doesn't make any sense. Trust me. But that's what I want. I've read a lot of books...and I want that epic, kind of, can't keep our hands off each other sex. In a car, in a bed, in the media room in your house. The place doesn't matter. I want the feeling...the passion and skin and need and just...all of it. Everything."

It's not what I'm expecting at all.

It's better.

So much better.

But then I panic, because…what if I disappoint her? I'm crazy about her, but I still manage to control myself. We aren't ripping each others' clothes off…

Not yet, anyway.

And that's what she wants.

Can we find that level of affection in just one summer? What she's describing is something that takes time and trust and…

Love.

It takes love.

_Doesn't it?_

"And you want all that...with me?"

"Well, I sort of thought that was a given," she grins. "I mean...yeah. With you."

"I love that," I tell her, smiling down at her. "But, just so there's no misunderstanding, I want to tell you something."

"What?"

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Bella, what you're describing...I mean, I feel that way about you. Already. I want you, more than I've ever wanted anyone. Right now, all I can think about is locking the door and lifting you against this bookshelf, because I'm a guy, and that's how guys think. But—and this is very important—you need to know that I'm not the typical college guy. My main objective in life is not to simply get laid as much as possible. I want...more than that. I want more than that with you. Do you see that?"

She steps closer. I don't know how. There's barely a breath of space between us, but somehow, she's closer, and I sigh, loving the way she feels nestled against me.

"Do you think I could have just shared that with you if I didn't?" Bella asks. "I know it's a lot...that _I'm _a lot. But you're the first person that has ever...made me feel this way. Like I'm worth the effort. Like, I can tell you my ridiculous, idealistic sex fantasy. And just so _you_ know...I want more than that, too. With you."

I kiss her, because I can't _not_ kiss her. She's too perfect, too sweet, and too unbelievably sexy. Groaning against my mouth, she slides her fingers through my hair. We kiss hard. Hungrily.

And then it changes.

A quiet whimper escapes her throat as I pin her body between mine and the bookshelf. Very gently, I lift her arm above her head, linking our fingers together as my hips press into hers. My other hand slowly slides along her neck, down her chest, until finally reaching the hem of her shirt. Bella shudders when my fingers reach beneath her blouse.

I _have_ to touch her.

My hand cups her breast and she groans, turning her head to the side and giving me a perfect view of her neck. I glide my nose along the skin of her neck, and her entire body jerks against mine. Our breathing is harsh and fast, and I know it's sensory overload for her. It has to be.

Our hands are entwined above her head.

My face is buried against her neck.

My hand is fondling her breast.

I'm _hard_, and our hips...

"Do you see?" I whisper against her ear. "Do you see how much I want you? How much I cannot wait to make your every fantasy come true?"

"Oh god," she whimpers, and her quiet whimper turns into a deafening moan when I slowly unbutton her jeans.

**Please leave us love!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

* * *

He feels like he's everywhere.

All over me.

It's the pinch of the bookshelf against my back that stings just enough to let me know that he's the one pressing me there. It's the way he's holding my hands above my head, when really, _I_ am the one holding onto him. It's the way his mouth tastes so much sweeter than his cock, but somehow it only makes me want to suck him all over again. It's the way his tongue feels as he licks my neck. And it's the way his hand – _Jesus, his hand_ – feels under my shirt, against my breast. It's his words in my ear. Hot and rasping and perfect.

And now, it's about me.

My whimpers have morphed into these fully wanton moans - loud and embarrassing, and entirely necessary.

Because his hand is unbuttoning my pants.

_And I want him to._

Something about him makes me want to ridiculous things – like strip down naked and roll around on the floor of the library. Or take my panties off on the first date. And it's been that way from the first moment I saw him, from the first moment I decided to check out a book so he would notice me.

Only now it's more.

_He_ is more.

But it's so hard to think about _how_ much more he is as his hand slips inside my panties. Because really, now I only want to think about that and how it feels. And it's even harder still as his fingers slip inside and, "Fuck," I whisper, or moan, or maybe just scream inside my head.

And he's all pants and whispered words of _wet_ and _tight_ and religious deities. And all of it's so hot and right and perfect…and everything I want and crave in the world.

He pushes his body as close as the hand between us allows. And then he whispers in my ear, "Is this okay?"

"It's perfect," I tell him, but it's not enough. "You're perfect."

I don't think about the fact that we're in the library as he touches me. Or that someone could catch us at any moment. I can't think about anything but him, but me, the way he makes me feel.

And it's good.

How did I never know it could be this amazing?

He's not teasing like last night – his thumb seeks out my clit and his fingers push inside me, fucking me soft and fast and hitting secret places that my own fingers have never found. The pleasure is only intensified, when his mouth seeks out my neck and he kisses and sucks me to the same delicious cadence as his hand.

It's overwhelming.

It's amazing.

It's perfect…just like I said.

My body jerks, it trembles and shakes. And I'm so thankful that he's holding me, as my knees threaten to give out.

"I can feel it, Bella," he whispers roughly. "I can feel you coming."

His mouth covers mine the moment I want to scream. It's muffled and hushed and sucked in by his kiss. And this – this is too much, too dreamlike to be real.

But then I remember his words.

_I cannot wait to make your every fantasy come true._

And I believe him.

I open my eyes to find him staring at me. The same way I always stare at him. And you would think that I would feel embarrassed, especially since I'm still in a state of semi-undress and his hand is still inside my panties stroking me gently. But I'm not. I'm nothing except completely happy…blissful…sated.

_Jesus._

And then he murmurs, "You're so fucking sexy when you come, baby."

He releases my hands above my head, and I immediately wrap them around his neck.

"You're even sexier when you make me."

He grins before more kisses – sweet, soft ,wet kisses. And his hand cups me gently once more before sliding out of my pants. I want to keep him here like this and kiss him all day.

He zips and buttons my pants, and I can't take my eyes off him. It's hard to remember that just a few days ago, everything between us was subtle hints and banter. And now, I can still taste him in my mouth…smell myself on his hand.

Was this what I was looking for when I checked out _Summer_?

_No_, I think. _This is so much more. This is so much better._

"I think you should let me take you out tonight. Our second date," he says, his fingers toying with the ends of my hair.

I can't stop the smile the spreads across my face. It's not sexy or demure or anything remotely contrived. It's just me…just how he makes me feel.

"I want that," I tell him. "The second date..._everything else that you said_," I whisper. "You make me want...you know, all of it."

And now his smile matches mine.

"I want you to have it – all of it."

And once again, I believe him.

Shortly after, an older gentleman comes in and I decide to leave. I need to let him finish working, and honestly if I'd stay, we probably won't be able to keep our hands off each other. Even though I want to spend every single minute with him, I don't want him to get fired. Plus, I need to get ready for our date.

_Our second date._

As I'm walking, I pull out my phone and look at the text he sent me earlier. I decide to send him one in return.

"_Of everything I have seen, __it's you I want to go on seeing:__  
__of everything I've touched, __it's your flesh I want to go on touching. – Neruda"_

I can't wait until tonight.

* * *

**Leave us some love. Or poetry.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

* * *

We're both anxious.

Which is hilarious, because my fingers have been inside her, and her mouth has been on me, but this – an actual _date_ – is making us nervous.

I'd laugh…if I wasn't so fucking nervous.

Bella's special. This – whatever this is – is special, and I really don't wanna fuck it up. Our first date consisted of making out on my couch. This second date needs to be…_more_.

Maybe it's because I'm young, but I hate what's considered a "typical" date. I hate the whole _movie-dinner-goodnight kiss _thing, and I can't say for sure, but I have a feeling Bella would hate that, too.

So, I had to get creative.

After dinner at her favorite pizza place, we climb back into the car. My guitar and a blanket are in the backseat. In her lap, Bella holds her beach bag. She'd seemed surprised when I asked her to bring it…and to fill it with some of her favorite books.

"Where are we going?" Bella asks excitedly.

Our linked hands are joined on the console between us, because I _have_ to be touching her at all times.

"You'll see."

When the beach comes into view, she begins bouncing in her seat. She's wearing a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers t-shirt, and it's…quite snug.

Bouncing is lovely.

I blow out a gust of air and try to control my hormones as I park the car close to the pier. We climb out, and I grab the guitar and blanket from the backseat. With her beach bag by her side, the two of us join hands and walk toward the seashore.

"I love the beach at night," she says.

"Me, too."

We find a spot, and we settle down onto the blanket. Bella rests against my chest and I bury my nose in her hair as we watch the last sliver of sunlight fall just below the horizon.

"So pretty," she whispers.

"Yeah."

And no, I don't mean the sunset.

I think she knows, because leans her head back just a little…just enough to see my face. She smiles, I smile back, and then I dip my head, kissing her softly.

"Edward, will you play your guitar for me?"

"Will you read to me?"

Her smile becomes brighter. "Is that why you asked me to bring my books?"

"Yeah," I admit sheepishly. "I just wanted an excuse to hear your voice for an extended period of time."

She giggles. "Do you sing, too?"

"I don't sing _well_, but I do, yeah."

"Sing to me."

I grab my guitar out of my case, and Bella sits as close as she possibly can to me while I play.

"_You looked right through me  
There was no one else  
I sat beside you and became myself  
Today…"_

She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder, and I can't be sure, but I think I see her wipe away a tear when the song ends.

"What other instruments do you play?" she asks quietly.

"Just guitar and piano."

"You're very talented."

I'm not, but I thank her anyway.

After a few more songs, I put my guitar back in its case. Bella pulls one of her books out of her bag and rests her head in my lap while she reads aloud. It's an old, worn copy of _The English Patient_.

"_What he would say, he cannot say to this woman whose openness is like a wound, whose youth is not mortal yet. He cannot alter what he loves most in her, her lack of compromise, where the romance of the poems she loves still sits with ease in the real world. Outside these qualities he knows there is no order in the world."_

While she reads, I slide my fingers through her hair and gaze down at her, noticing the slight up-turn of her nose and the little mole next to her brow. She's stunning, in a way that most guys wouldn't take the time to recognize. They wouldn't notice the subtle little things that make her perfect and beautiful.

But I notice.

And I know, without a doubt, that I'm crazy about her.

For a second, I let myself worry about the future. Summer is coming to an end soon, and we'll both be going back to school.

I can't be without her.

I don't want to be without her.

But my worry is gone the moment she closes the book. Bella looks up at me, and her eyes search mine. She's wondering what I'm thinking.

I'm thinking I love her.

I'm thinking I should tell her.

* * *

**Edward was playing and singing "Today" by Joshua Radin. If you find it on YouTube, make sure it's the acoustic version. :)**

**_The English Patient_ was written by Michael Ondaatje.**

**Please leave us love! :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

* * *

When I was a little girl – probably around seven years old – Charlie took two weeks off during the summer and we went to Florida. We spent two weeks in the sun doing nothing but going to the beach and Disney World. I'm certain he hated it, but I loved it. Every minute. It has always been the best two weeks of my life until now.

Two weeks have passed since Edward took me on our second date.

And the last two weeks have been amazing.

Edward is amazing. He's funny and sweet and so, so smart. He's also kind of a nerd, which is mostly adorable and hot. He loves science fiction – Heinlein in particular – and listening to him talk about it one night made me want to read the book. Well, listening to him, seeing his eyes bright and green and animated, and watching him hold the paperback in his hands like it was something important. It all worked together. And I read it.

He was right.

It was brilliant.

Everything has been so easy. Every conversation, every touch, every kiss…just everything. When he's not working, he's with me. And when he is, I'm generally with him. At least for a little while. Spending time with him never gets old and I find that even when I'm not with him…I want to be.

But tonight, I am with him.

After walking around Port Angeles for a couple hours, we decide to come back to my house where we can be alone. We end up in my room talking and reading and touching.

"Stay" I whisper, not because I have to, but because the moment suddenly feels quiet. Quiet outside, quiet in my room, quiet breathing and beating hearts between the both of us. "Don't go home. I don't want to say goodnight tonight. I want to say good morning tomorrow instead."

He laughs softly, but agrees, "Okay." There's no hesitation or question in his voice.

Once we're in my bed, he pulls me back against his bare chest. His arms wrap around me and I settle against him. His hand rests on my breast. He holds it there, cupping it in his palm. I don't really think about it because he touches me all the time. I like him touching me all the time.

"Can I ask you a question?" My voice is small because I've been thinking about this for a while now. And I haven't really known how to bring it up.

"You can ask me anything"

"Do you ever...you know...think about what's gonna happen when we have to go back to school?"

He sighs, but he holds me closer and his hand doesn't ever leave my breast.

"I do. I think about it a lot, actually."

"Yeah?" I ask. "And what do you...think about?"

He presses a kiss to my neck. It's warm and soft and makes me shiver.

"I think that five hours is too far away from you," he murmurs in my ear, "but...I think we can handle it. I mean, you're all I want, and I'm not ready to let you go. Unless..."

_Unless what?_

I tense.

"Unless, you want me to let you go, and then I would."

His voice sounds sad and I don't want that.

Not his sad voice and not any talk of him letting me go.

"I don't want that," I tell him quickly. "No. Just...just the thought of that is unacceptable. Don't even say that, okay?"

I turn in his arms and press my lips against his neck and cheeks and lips. And my reaction makes him smile even as I kiss him.

His hands slide down my back, scratching softly before settling on my ass.

"Okay. I don't want that, either. Not ever," he tells me sincerely. "If I wasn't a senior, I'd transfer, but that's impossible now. One year. We can handle anything for one year."

This feeling of peace just settles around us. Because he's right. I know he's right. It is just a year and it's really not that far.

And he wants this to work between us.

He wants me for more than just the summer.

"Did you know that you're like better than Mickey Mouse?"

I grin, and he laughs. But I can tell that my abrupt change in subject has confused him.

"I don't know about that. Mickey is pretty damn cool."

"No, really. My happiest memory is of Mickey. Well, it was...but not anymore."

"What's your happiest memory now?

I blush.

It's still surprising to me that I am capable of blushing around him.

"I don't know if I can narrow them all down," I tell him because it's the truth. "But all of them have been in the last three weeks."

"Mine, too. But we're going to make lots of happy memories, Bella."

He kisses me again.

"I know," I tell him, tracing his lips with my finger. "Did you...I don't know… Did you expect anything like this to happen? This...whatever this is between us?"

"No, especially not this fast. But I refuse to question it. It's the real thing. I know it is."

"Yeah...seven years or seven days." I laugh softly. "We were closer to the seven days. Sometimes I think that it's kind of fast...the way I feel for you. But I _feel_ it. And I know the time doesn't matter."

He looks at me for a long moment.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he whispers.

"I like secrets."

"It didn't even take me seven _hours_ to fall in love with you."

I'm so taken by his words, I don't know if I can even form my own.

All I know is the way my heart pounds and slows at the same time. The way my body, heart and mind sync up in exact time and agreement with each other.

My face flushes.

So does my body.

"You know I love you, too, right?" I whisper.

"I do now."

I don't even think about it as I sit up, looking down at him and lifting his shirt over my head. I don't even feel exposed as his wide and now-needy eyes look at me. He's seen it all anyway. All of me – inside and out.

"I want you, Edward. All of you…everything."

"You're sure?" his voice is quiet and questioning.

"So, sure…the surest."

He reaches up, fingering my nipples – first one and then the other. I watch as they grow even harder than they were before. I'm fascinated by the sight of his hands on my skin…_on me_. I lean over him because it feels like the most natural thing in the world – like if he doesn't take me in his mouth I might not survive the night or even this moment.

He doesn't disappoint.

His lifts his head and then he kisses them all over. Soft, sucking kisses that sound louder and different than when he kisses my mouth. He cups them fully, pushing them together as he wets them all over with his tongue. It makes me whimper which turns into a gasping moan as he sucks hard on my nipple.

And I'm watching him do it.

It's the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

_I want you, I want you, I want you._

I push back the sheet that's covering his body. I tug on the waist of his boxers as he lifts his hips to help me get them off.

I want him naked like me.

He's hard. And not for the first time, I look at him, examine him up close. Deep red and smooth and extending out from his body. I trail my finger from base to tip, and fascinated, I stoke along the slit of its head, finding it sticky and wet. My eyes shoot to his as he gasps. And my thumb swirls over and over.

"Bella, baby…you're gonna make me…" His hand covers mine and his cock, stopping me. "Come here."

And then he's pulling me to him and pushing me down on the bed. And now he's the one over me, kissing me so wet and deep I can barely stand it. And he's so fucking tender and gentle as I feel his shaking hands roam over my body.

"Don't be nervous," I tell him, breathing words against his neck. "I want this…I want you."

He leans back, kneeling between my legs.

"I want to make this good," he breathes. "But it's your first time and I'm just afraid… Bella, I want to give you your fantasy."

His eyes are striking – all gentle and concerned mixed with need. And this is why I want him – this is why he's _the one_.

"You are," I breathe, the words slipping out easy because they're so true. "This…you…Edward you are my fantasy."

His eyes search mine for a million moments, and he only finds the truth.

And then his eyes search my body…every inch of my naked body.

Bronze hair fills my fingers that grip too hard as kisses are kissed everywhere – knees and hips and shoulders and neck – all along my belly until I feel warm breath between my legs.

There's one long lick.

And then a thousand little ones.

There are fingers and sucking and feelings I never knew existed. And words like _soft_ and _sweet_ and _beautiful_. I shake and tremble under his hands and his mouth. I feel myself open for him…grow wet for him….ready for him.

It builds and builds as he pushes my legs out, and when it finally claims me, my back arches up and I cry out words that probably don't even exist and some that do.

_So good…_

_So much…_

_So, so, so…._

_Edward…_

Because there's nothing else in this moment but him and the way he's making me feel.

And then everything slows like dripping honey into hot tea and he covers me with his body, holding me and kissing me all wet and warm.

He moves and reaches for something in his jeans on the floor. I don't know what it is until I hear the crinkle of foil.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs.

I nod – I can't even speak.

I watch him roll the latex on, and even though I know we need to be safe, a part of me wishes I could feel him bare inside me.

But I know that will come another time.

Many, many more times.

He pulls my hips, dragging me down the bed just slightly and to him. And I see the concern still etched in his face.

"Please," I whisper.

And then he opens me, positions me and himself. He rubs the tip against my still-sensitive skin. But this feels different than his fingers. This feels like more.

And I want more.

And then he pushes. I tense for just a moment, the stinging taking me by surprise. But it's not as bad as I imagined it would be.

And I still want more.

"Lift your hips, baby," he says, his voice tense just like his body. I do, and then, "Just…fuck…just like that."

He leans down to kiss me, his mouth moving, his body still.

"Please," I whimper again. "Please…just move."

And then he does.

He moves so slowly and takes such care that I have to fight the urge to cry because I'm afraid that he will mistake my tears for pain. And while it is uncomfortable, it's also perfect and sweet and so fucking hot to feel him inside me this way.

I clutch at his shoulders and pull him down to me, feeling his weight – it centers me. His body is tense and his movements become jerky. He's biting his lip and I can see him trying so hard to keep himself from coming.

"I'm okay," I tell him. "It doesn't hurt."

And it's not even a lie because the pain isn't really even pain at all.

And then he pushes just a little bit harder, he moves just a little bit faster. And I wrap my legs around him, wanting to keep him this close forever.

I focus on slick sounds of sex and heavy breathing…and the rapid beating of my heart. Until I'm focusing on his voice.

"Bella, oh god," he says as he trembles.

And I wonder if it was like this for him – did he feel it when he knew I was about to come?

"It's okay," I tell him. "Come. Come in me."

Thick and pulsing, I can feel it even through the barrier of the condom. And hearing my name in his voice in my ear is loud and soft and desperate and calm.

All at the same time.

And watching him – _seeing that_ – is better than almost anything.

Because I made him look like that.

I made him sound like that.

I made him feel that way.

He collapses over me, holding me against him and kissing my neck over and over again. There are no real words…only real feelings. And this very real man who has – in the span of a summer – changed me and my life so completely.

He comes back to bed after cleaning up and disposing of the condom. I can't help but smile as he walks toward me. I smile even more when he takes me in his arms, and I rest against his chest…his heart.

I feel as though this moment should remind me of a book, but the truth is – it doesn't.

This is so much better.

I kiss his chest, his warmth seeping into my lips. And I close my eyes, happy in knowing that we were the authors of this moment.

And I would read our words over and over again.

* * *

Please leave us some love. Or condoms.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

Once upon a time…

There was a guy.

And he was in love.

He was so in love that, after graduating from Washington State with a degree in music, he packed his every possession and moved to Seattle. He enrolled in graduate school at the University of Washington. And because their love story is a modern-day fairytale, he found an off-campus apartment, got down on one knee, and begged the love of his life…

To live in sin with him.

It wasn't as if he didn't want to marry her. They'd talked about it enough that both knew it was inevitable. But, they'd also discussed it enough to know that they just weren't ready. They wanted to finish this chapter of their life together before moving on to the next.

Today, that same guy is sitting in a college library, trying to concentrate on the biography in his hand. But his mind and body are restless, because standing behind the check-out counter is a pretty girl…with big brown eyes and a bouncing ponytail. She's wearing the Tom Petty t-shirt he loves so much, and against it, he sees his necklace. Dangling from the chain is a tiny starfish—a small reminder of their second date on the beach. It was a gift for their first anniversary, and she never takes it off.

He loves her.

At this point, you're probably wondering why I'm referring to myself in third person.

It's because I'm nervous.

And excited.

And horny.

What we've planned…is dangerous. This is a college library, and it would be so easy to get caught. But Bella has a fantasy, and I made it my mission in life to make all her fantasies come true.

Even if it lands me in jail.

We'd never had the chance to fulfill my sexual fantasy in our library that summer…the summer of Bella's sexual awakening. Saying goodbye to each other had been painful, but with Skype and texts and frequent weekend trips between Pullman and Seattle, we'd made it work.

It's Bella's senior year, and she'd needed to complete some work-study hours to fulfill her scholarship requirements. She'd chosen to work in the campus library, and now, our roles are reversed. She checks _my_ library card (now a student ID), and I pretend to read while gazing at her as she works behind the counter.

Tonight is especially difficult, because I keep looking at her, and she keeps looking at me. Her eyes are wide and burning and full of need.

We want this…_so much_.

Mondays aren't busy nights at the library, and it's nearly closing time. I hear another student worker announce that the upstairs is now closed for the night, and Bella thanks her, telling her she can go on home…that she'll finish up down here… and to please lock the door when she leaves.

That's my cue.

I rise from my table and walk up and down the aisles…just to double-check and kill some time. Satisfied that we are, indeed, alone, I continue walking around until I finally make my way to the deepest, darkest corner of the library. It's filled from ceiling to floor with gigantic volumes of anthologies and encyclopedias, but I don't even glance at the spines.

All I can see is her.

Standing next to the ladder.

The ponytail is gone, and her hair flows down her back. She's in a pair of heels and a tight black skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, even from behind.

My very own sexy librarian.

Bella's pretending to work—lost in concentration as she gazes at the spines of the books. I brush her hair aside before slipping my hands around her waist. She gasps, but I know she's not afraid.

She's excited. She's eager.

She loves me.

I dip my head, sliding my nose along her neck. She smells like tangerine and books and sex. My hand cups her breast as I press my erection against her ass.

She groans. Loudly.

Our breathing is harsh as I flex my hips against her bottom. It's torture, but the pain is exquisite.

"Please," she begs.

"Climb the ladder," I whisper against her ear.

I quickly lower my pants while she steps onto the rung of the library ladder. Bella hitches her skirt, and my hand finds her…wet, warm, and...

"No panties. Fuck me…" I groan, letting my fingers slide against her.

"No," she whispers against my mouth. "Fuck _me_."

It's hard and fast, with desperate groans and loud whimpers and hungry kisses. One of her hands fist into my hair while the other holds onto the bookshelf, and when we come, and she screams my name, it's my every fantasy come to life.

_She_ is my every fantasy come to life.

Libraries are secret keepers.

On the shelves.

Between the covers.

Sometimes, it takes a lot of searching to find exactly what you're looking for. Sometimes you choose a book, spend some time with it, and decide it's really not for you. You return it to its proper place, leaving it just as you found it, and continue on your way…in search of the perfect characters in their perfect world.

And then you find it.

And _this_ book…you don't know how you ever lived without it. The cover instantly attracts you, but it's what you find between the pages that consumes your heart and soul.

Books are a lot like love in that way.

I found my perfect book.

I found my perfect world.

With Bella.

And now, we're writing our own story.

* * *

**Thanks to all of you for reading, reviewing, and tweeting! Because of the frequent updates, we didn't get to reply to many of you, but please know every review was read and cherished. **

**XXOO  
**

**Cosmogirl and SydneyAlice  
**


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